


The Hogwarts Prophecy

by Rumaan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humour, Not Epilogue Compliant, Prophecy, Romance, Treasured Tropes, Tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/pseuds/Rumaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Minerva McGonagall’s first full year as Headmistress of Hogwarts and all is well until one November evening, Sybill Trelawney gives a prophecy that could spell an end to magic forever. Now, Minerva is leading the Hogwarts line in a race against time to match-make two unlikely students and save magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Hawthorn and Vine (Dramione.org) Treasured Tropes fest last year. The prompt for this story was by Scarlettcat and is below:
> 
> Trelawney makes an embarrassing prophecy during the middle of dinner involving Draco and Hermione. Now the whole school is determined to bring them together romantically and save the world.
> 
> As the theme for this prompt-fest was Treasured Tropes, I decided to add some treasured and well-used scenarios in this story.
> 
> A massive thank you to swirlsofblack who beta-ed this for me.
> 
> Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

The Great Hall was its usual hubbub of noise - dinnertime was never a quiet time. The students were glad the day was over, and the professors were more relaxed, tired from enforcing rules all day long.

The cheerful chatter was music to Professor McGonagall’s ears. The re-opening of Hogwarts that autumn had been nerve-wracking; not only had she spent the summer repairing the castle after the Great Battle the previous May, but now she was presiding over the largest number of students the school had ever housed.

The school had decided it would be best if the previous year were repeated. Half of the seventh-years had been leading a rebellion against the Carrows or on the run, which didn’t allow for the best N.E.W.T.s results. The O.W.L.s marks hadn’t been much better; in fact they’d been the worst posted by an entire year since the examination system had been founded. This didn’t come without its problems – the biggest being the large body of students that now made up the first year, which comprised of last year’s first-years and this year’s new intake. It was a little unfair to the new students, especially Muggle-borns, as they were going to be in the same year as students who’d already gone through one year of schooling. Not that the last year could be considered a real education; it had been a battle for survival.

Now, she had a school that was packed to capacity, which was quite a problem. She had initially toyed with the idea of housing the seventh-years in separate accommodation and allowing them extra freedom, as they were adults, but she’d soon squashed that idea. Those students had far too much history to make that successfully work. The idea of constantly having to break up fights between the Slytherins and the Gryffindors was not something she could stomach. They were bad enough in the daytime and they were hardly setting a good example to the school with their continuing hostility.

Minerva was pulled out of her reverie by the booming sound of a wooden chair falling backwards. She jumped and looked around in alarm. All she could see was the stocking-covered legs of Sybill Trelawney sticking up over the table. The mass-giggling broke out immediately. Minerva glared at the sniggering students, but rushed to help Sybill stand up. With the help of Pomona Sprout, she heaved the troublesome professor up. She tutted as the Seer made no effort to help them, not even bothering to reply to their questions of whether she was all right or not. Indeed, she stood there teetering, needing both Minerva and Pomona to keep her standing.

The student body was getting louder and louder with their laughter. Using _Sonorous_ to amplify her voice, she bellowed, “Quiet!” at the unruly bunch, and much-needed silence descended.

Minerva turned to face Sybill to see if she could now stand unaided only to be surprised at the sight that greeted her. The Divination professor had gone rigid, her eyes glassy and unseeing whilst her mouth was slack-jawed and open. Minerva was about to ask once more how she was feeling when she started to speak in a loud and harsh voice.

_‘By this year’s end, when the world starts anew, the Snake and the Lion must unite. Their union needed to save magic. One, the purest of the pure, the other the cleverest of them all. Both will resist, but if magic is to survive, by New Year’s Day, their love must prevail.’_

 

Minerva stared in shock, along with the rest of the school as Sybill’s head rolled over onto her chest. It rested there for a brief moment before the Divination professor seemed to jerk awake.

She looked around the Great Hall in surprise. “So sorry, Headmistress, I must have drifted off for a moment. Is it me, or is it terribly hot in here?”

Minerva, along with the rest of Hogwarts, looked at the layers of clothing she was wearing. It was November; it could hardly be called warm anywhere in the draughty castle. She stood there, speechless, as the eccentric woman weaved her way out of the Hall and, presumably, back to her quarters. The silence was broken by Sybill’s exit and everything descended into chaos.

“Was that a genuine prophecy?” Pomona asked her.

Minerva didn’t know what to make of it. Only two people had heard Sybill Trelawney prophesise anything before, and one of them was dead. The other was currently gazing up at the staff table with an anxious gaze.

“I’m not sure, Pomona. We’ll finish off dinner and have a meeting in the staffroom. I need to speak to Albus and Harry Potter.”

\-----------

Minerva looked at the worried faces gathered around her. She only had bad news for them. As soon as dinner was over, she’d grabbed Potter and rushed back to her office to consult Albus. He listened in silence as she explained everything and then told him the prophecy. He confirmed that it followed the same pattern as the prophecy Sybill had made in his presence all those years ago, with Harry backing him up. She was now faced with having to tell the rest of the professors – minus Sybill, of course – that this was the case.

“To cut to the chase,” she started, once she had the professors gathered in the staffroom. “It looks as if Sybill has made a real prophecy. I’ve sent an owl to the Ministry to inform them and, as soon as they receive it, they should send an Unspeakable to help decipher and record it.”

The shocked gasps around the room did nothing to reassure. This wasn’t the way she wanted to kick off her reign as Headmistress.

“Are you sure?” Filius asked.

She nodded. “I spoke to Albus and Harry Potter. Her actions and reactions were consistent with their experiences of her prophesising ability.”

“Why now?” Pomona grumbled. “Everything is only just getting back to normal.”

“I must admit, I’ll be glad when our seventh-years finally leave. Hogwarts hasn’t been quiet since they enrolled,” Filius commented.

Minerva couldn’t help but agree. Ever since Harry Potter had first stepped foot in the castle, something went wrong every year, without fail.

“So now we just need to figure out exactly what the prophecy means,” Aurora Sinistra said.

She pursed her lips and nodded. Why did she have a horrible feeling that that would be the easy part?

\--------

Harry made his way wearily up to Gryffindor Tower. A welcoming committee was awaiting him in the common room. He hadn’t expected anything else.

“Harry!” Hermione said, rushing over with Ron in her wake. “What happened?”

He slumped on the nearest sofa, half-crushing a first-year, who quickly sprung up. “It’s as I suspected. Trelawney seems to have gone and made another prophecy. The portrait of Dumbledore agreed with me.”

Gasps rang around the common room as people digested what this might mean.

The three friends waited until everyone’s interest had waned before carrying on the conversation. Harry cast _Muffliato_ before any of them spoke again.

“But she said something about magic fading,” Ron said with a gulp.

“Actually, she said that two people had to fall in love, otherwise magic would fail,” Hermione corrected him.

“Well, that makes it so much better then,” Ron replied sarcastically.

“As with all prophecies, Ronald, it means that a series of events have to play out in order for either to come to pass. Just as Harry had to face Voldemort and kill him, as both couldn’t both be present in a peaceful world. If you paid attention, you would know this.”

Ron glared at Hermione before turning to Harry and ignoring her snooty explanation. “So did McGonagall say who the pair was?”

“No, she’s sent an owl off to the Ministry to request that an Unspeakable come tomorrow to record and decipher the prophecy.”

“Well, I’ve already been to the library and got the books relevant to prophecies and how to unravel them,” Hermione informed him.

Harry couldn’t help the smile spreading over his face. There was one thing you could always be sure about and it was that Hermione would always go to the library to get out research material. “Let’s go up to the dorm room. It’ll be much quieter up there,” he suggested.

\-------

Once they had settled down comfortably in the boys’ room, they started to dissect the evening’s events. “Does McGonagall have any idea of who the prophecy is referring to?” Hermione asked.

“No, she was more concerned with working out whether it was true or not. But there can be no doubt about it: Trelawney acted similarly to when she made the one about Wormtail.”

Hermione pulled a piece of parchment from her robes and smoothed it out on the floor. “I managed to jot it down just in case.”

“Of course you did,” Ron teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him immaturely. “Anyway, I think it’s fairly obvious who the snake and the lion are referring to.”

“It has to be Slytherin and Gryffindor,” Harry said.

“Exactly!”

“Well that’s fairly hopeless then. I mean, realistically, are we going to have a true-love match between a Slytherin and one of us?” Ron commented.

Hermione and Harry grimaced at each other. “It’s not likely, no,” Harry replied.

“Pretty impossible if you ask me!”

“Nothing is impossible. Look how much Snape loved Harry’s mum,” Hermione pointed out.

“Yeah, but she didn’t love him back. We’re doomed. I have no idea what to do if magic dies. How will I cope as a Muggle?”

Harry looked at Ron and then towards Hermione and burst out laughing at the thought of Ron trying to fit into the Muggle world. “It’s not funny,” the redhead grumbled.

“It is,” he replied.

Hermione, taking pity on Ron, started handing out the books she’d taken out of the library. “Start reading!” she ordered.

\--------

Dean, Seamus and Neville returned to their dormitory to sleep a few hours later and were unimpressed to see books and scraps of parchment spread around.

“Finally! You’re here,” Ron greeted them as they entered the room. “Here, catch,” he said, chucking a book at Dean.

“Ronald!” Hermione shrieked. “You can’t treat books that way! You could seriously damage the binding.”

He rolled his eyes. “We need reinforcements. My eyes are getting blurry from all this reading.”

She had to agree. There was so much to read about prophecies and a lot of it was very vague. In fact, there didn’t appear to be very many concrete facts. She quickly filled the other three Gryffindor boys in and set them to work.

\---------

It was hours later when the rebellion began and, predictably, Ron led it.

“I can’t read any more, Hermione. I’m tired and my head hurts.”

“Just a little longer, Ron,” she pleaded.

He threw the book down on the floor. “No! I want to sleep.”

“Hear, hear!” murmured Dean.

“Come on, guys, information is power.”

Harry, taking one look at the other four boys in the room made a suggestion. “How about we brainstorm and then start reading again tomorrow?”

Hermione, outnumbered, could do little else but agree. “Well, we know it’s a Slytherin and a Gryffindor,” she started.

“Yeah, but who?” Seamus asked.

“Ha ha! I reckon its Neville and Millicent Bulstrode,” Dean teased.

“You’re forgetting the prophecy speaks of the purest of the pure and cleverest of them all,” Harry said in Neville’s defence, who had gone green at the thought.

“Oh yeah!”

“Neville’s a pure-blood and you never know, Bulstrode might be the cleverest troll of them all,” Seamus suggested.

“We don’t know if they are talking about students who currently go to Hogwarts, or previous members of the two houses. Or, as Seamus illuminated in a not so nice way, we don’t know what they could be the purest of or cleverest at,” Hermione said sensibly.

“Hermione’s right,” Ron said with a massive yawn. “Anyway, now we’ve had that useful brainstorming session, I’m going to sleep. Go away, Hermione.”

She rolled her eyes at Ron and but picked up the scattered books and made her way out the room with a ‘goodnight’ to the boys. She felt depressed as she walked back down to the common room and up the stairs to the girls’ quarters. She didn’t know why, but she had a sinking feeling that the prophecy mentioned her. She was called the ‘brightest witch of her age’.

\---------

Minerva greeted Arwydd Morgan, the Unspeakable sent by the Ministry of Magic. She was the department’s eminent employee when it came to prophecies, which pleased Minerva greatly. It meant that the Ministry was taking this matter seriously.

Once the greetings were out of the way, Minerva ushered Arwydd over to her desk, where she had tea waiting.

“Oh, lovely, thanks, Minerva,” the Welsh witch said. “The Floo Network always makes me thirsty.”

They caught up on the state of the Ministry after Voldemort’s defeat as they sipped their tea. Arwydd was only just starting to get the prophecies back in order after the disaster that had befallen the Hall of Prophecy when Harry Potter had been lured in to take the prophecy off the shelf for Voldemort.

“It really is a disgrace that it’s taken this long,” she said. “But I suppose the Ministry did have some pressing matters on their mind.”

Minerva suppressed an acerbic remark that Voldemort could be considered more than pressing. However, Unspeakables weren’t known for their perspective. The work that they did was so consuming and secretive that they tended to live in a Department of Mysteries bubble.

“So, Sybill Trelawney has been prophesising again?” Arwydd remarked.

“Yes, yesterday evening at dinner.”

“Could you outline it for me, please?”

“I’ve arranged for you to view it in the Pensieve. I thought that way you would be able to look at any details I may have forgotten.”

“Oh, excellent. Yes, that’s a very good plan.”

The Headmistress ushered Arwydd over to the Pensieve, and they both entered into her memory from last night. The Unspeakable viewed it several times before she seemed happy.

“Hmm … Well, Sybill Trelawney might not be the most consistent Seer but she certainly does make the most interesting prophecies.”

“Interesting is one way of putting it.”

“I agree that it is very definitely a proper prophecy and one that we must take very seriously.”

Minerva sighed. She really had been hoping against hope that it would turn out to be nothing but a desperate attempt by an increasingly unstable woman to get attention. Sybill still hadn’t recovered from Umbridge’s reign of terror at Hogwarts. She still had a drinking problem and didn’t seem either able or inclined to get it under control. She held her position at Hogwarts out of sympathy, but Firenze was taking more classes and responsibility for the teaching of Divination at the school.

“It’s vitally urgent that we understand it and quickly. It’s November now and it won’t be long until it’s New Year’s. Have you made any efforts to try and decipher it?” Arwydd asked.

“I’ve been looking at since it was revealed. I think it’s more than obvious that it talks about two Hogwarts’ houses, Slytherin and Gryffindor.”

“Yes, the snake and the lion.”

“I was wondering if the place of prophecy could be important. Has it been revealed at Hogwarts because it refers to two current students? Or are we going to have to trawl through all surviving alumni members?” Minerva asked.

“Well, the place the prophecy has been revealed isn’t important. Prophecies are told in lots of unrelated places, but often the person they are revealed to is relevant. In this case, Sybill made the prophecy in front of the whole school, which makes me think it affects the school and, therefore, is likely that the two would-be lovers are students here.”

“If that’s the case, then I think it narrows down who the ‘cleverest of them all’ refers to. It has to be Hermione Granger, she is by far the most able of all the students here.”

Arwydd pondered that. “Yes, I’ve heard of her extraordinary intellect. Indeed, Sandra has been thinking about trying to recruit her.”

Minerva smiled. The Head of the Department of Mysteries never lost a trick in who to bring in. “I think she’ll find she has competition with the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures.”

“What a shame!” the Unspeakable said. “She could do a lot better than that.”

“Hermione wouldn’t think so. She aims to improve the rights of magical creatures in the wizarding world - especially house-elves.”

Arwydd brushed this aside and got back to the task at hand. “Is there anyone else this could possibly refer to?”

“Not really. Hermione is a very special witch. Indeed, she has been called ‘the brightest witch of her generation’ for a while now. There is no one at Hogwarts who even comes close to her intelligence.”

“So that clears up who the Gryffindor is. Now we just have to look for the purest of all Slytherins.”

Minerva rubbed her head. “That could take a while. They all pride themselves on their bloodlines.”

“Yes, which makes me think it definitely would have to be a Slytherin who was ‘the purest of them all’.”

“I’ll list the Slytherins who aren’t pure-bloods. That will probably be the quickest way to eliminate a few off our list.”

The Headmistress looked up at the coughing noise that interrupted them. She saw the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black looking at her, his eyes bright with interest. “If I could be of assistance, Headmistress. I know the majority of the bloodlines.”

She pursed her lips. Out of all the portraits, Phineas was her least favourite. He enjoyed poking his nose into everything and was firmly wedded to the idea that pure-bloods were superior. But they really did need help on this. Minerva had never really paid much attention to who was considered the purest of all the pure-bloods. As a half-blood, it had never interested her.

“Thank you, Phineas, that would be appreciated.”

“What exactly are you looking for?” he asked.

As if he didn’t already know. She swung her gaze around the walls and saw that the majority of the portraits were pretending to snooze, but were avidly listening in on every word. They truly were the nosiest portraits she’d ever come across. She suppressed her desire to scold. “We need to look at what males currently in Slytherin would be considered the most pure.”

“Well, that is easy,” Phineas said.

Minerva and Arwydd looked up at him, all ears. He took an age in telling them, drawing the dramatic pause out for maximum effect.

“It would be young Draco Malfoy. He’s the only remaining pure-blood scion of both the noble houses of Black and Malfoy. You couldn’t get more pedigree than that. Narcissa really is the only one of my great-great grandchildren who I can be proud of.”

She groaned and put her head in her hands. “This is all we need.”

Arwydd looked at her curiously. “What’s the problem?”

“Hermione Granger is Muggle-born and Draco Malfoy is a former Death Eater. We have no hope of saving magic.”

“We shouldn’t lose hope. Stranger things have happened,” the Unspeakable said positively.

“The Headmistress is correct. My great-great-great-grandson has been brought up properly. He would never betray his blood-line by consorting with a Mud- … er … Muggle-born.”

“That isn’t something to proud of, Phineas,” Minerva snapped. “We need Hermione and Draco to fall in love to save magic.”

The former Slytherin Headmaster looked torn at the thought of his precious bloodline being tainted for good or magic disappearing forever.

“There’s no need to lose hope, Minerva. Prophecies that predict love are very specific. They are often governed by greater celestial forces and are destined.”

Minerva breathed a sigh of relief; maybe there wasn’t a miracle for her to perform after all.

“But don’t rest on your laurels. The prophecy can’t self-fulfil. It needs to be helped along and if these two particular students loathe each other then it will be harder than usual to bring about love. If you can get them to spend time together, then destiny can play out and magic will be saved.”

Uncharacteristically, Minerva ran distracted hands through her hair, dislodging her bun. “That’s easy to say but getting Hermione and Draco to spend time without hexes flying is a task that needs at least a year!”

“Unfortunately, your time is very limited, but you’re so very capable, Minerva, that I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

_Easy for you to say, you don’t have to attempt to do it_ , the Headmistress thought acidly.

Arwydd stood up. “But be reassured about one thing: Love prophecies only choose people well-matched - some call them soul mates. Well, I have done all that I can here. We appear to have deciphered the prophecy and I’ve recorded it. Time for me to return back to the Ministry.”

Minerva could barely raise her spirits enough to thank the other witch and see her out. She couldn’t remember feeling so depressed and helpless. Not even after Albus had been murdered.


	2. Plans and Partners

Minerva gathered all the professors together again after dinner later that day. This time she did involve Sybill Trelawney. It wouldn’t be fair to keep her completely out of the loop, even if she didn’t remember the prophecy.

“I wanted to update you all on my meeting with Arwydd, the Unspeakable the Ministry sent over today. She investigated the prophecy that Sybill here made, and it does appear to be genuine.”

There were groans around the staffroom.

“I gave a prophecy?” Sybill piped up.

“Yes, during dinner yesterday.”

“Oh, I think you must be mistaken, I just drifted off for a minute.”

“I’ll show you my memory of it when we complete this meeting,” Minerva said, eager to get on with what they should be discussing that evening.

Sybill looked a little unsure, as if she wanted to discuss it further, but the disapproving looks she was getting from the other professors for delaying the Headmistress kept her silent.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Arwydd has confirmed that it’s a prophecy and that we have until New Year’s Day to get the couple together.”

“How are we going to achieve that? It’s mid-November now. That leaves us with hardly any time, and we don’t even know who it’s referring to yet,” Aurora Sinistra said.

“Well, that’s not true. We believe we have a good idea of who the prophecy speaks of.”

The professors leant forward as one, their attention firmly given to Minerva.

“We believe that the ‘cleverest of them all’ refers to Hermione Granger.”

“Tha’ll be ‘Ermione, alrigh’,” Hagrid said, beaming around the room.

The Headmistress ignored this interruption. “And we think the ‘purest of the pure’ refers to Draco Malfoy.”

The silence was deafening before a groan from Filius broke it. “Please tell me that is some kind of joke, Minerva.”

She shook her head. “I’m really sorry, Filius. I had help from old Phineas Black and if anyone would know the pure blood-lines then it’s him.”

“That’s never going to work,” Pomona said.

“Tha’ manky git with our ‘Ermione!” Hagrid said, outraged.

“Hagrid! Try and remember that you are a professor for all the students,” Minerva scolded.

The half-giant quietened down, grumbling under his breath.

“It’s not ideal, no. With their history, it will be difficult to see how the prophecy could be fulfilled.”

“They both lack the eye. Depressingly mundane, the pair of them. Very well suited, really,” Sybill said, but was ignored by everyone.

“We’ll have to give it a try,” Pomona said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

The Headmistress rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Yes, I guess we will. Any ideas?”

The room was quiet as everyone sat there thinking what they could do to promote two students, who had only ever shown a hatred of each other, to fall in love.

“Weeeell, I have an idea,” Filius said, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m not sure if it will necessarily work but it will give them time together.”

“Go on,” Minerva said.

“How about we partner them up in a special project. Have them work together in Arithmancy, or partner them in Potions? You get my drift.”

“Draco Malfoy doesn’t take Arithmancy,” Septima Vector, the Arithmancy Professor, said.

“I hate to break it to you, Filius, but students brew potions independently and never in partners,” Horace Slughorn objected.

“Haven’t you got a difficult potion you could have them work on together as the two best students in the class?”

“But Draco isn’t in the top two. That’d be Hermione and Theo Nott.”

Filius made a shushing motion with his hand, as if that wasn’t important. “Surely you can think of something, Horace.”

Horace looked less than enthusiastic at Filius’ suggestions, but Minerva pounced on them. “It’s true that Hermione and Draco haven’t spent much time together one-on-one. They might just need some time away from their friends in a setting where they could come to appreciate each other’s skills, especially as Arwydd Morgan thinks this could be key to fulfilling the prophecy.”

Hagrid sat mutinously at the back of the staffroom, his arms crossed in a disapproving pose. “I don’t think yeh thought this through, Minerva. Why would yeh wan’ to subject ‘Ermione to Malfoy?”

“Because we’ll lose magic altogether if this prophecy isn’t realised. You know what that will mean? An end to our world! How do you imagine all those witches and wizards will integrate into the Muggle community having never interacted with it before? Even Muggle enthusiasts like Arthur Weasley don’t have a clue as how Muggle society works.”

Hagrid looked torn at this. “But it’s Malfoy.”

Minerva pursed her lips. “Yes, Hagrid. I know how fond you are of Hermione, but this prophecy speaks of love, not some kind of forced relationship. I also have firm reassurances from Arwydd that love prophecies only choose couples that are matched celestially. We’re just trying to give them a way to overcome their past and find that love.”

“Venus is in alignment with Mercury. It will stay that way until the end of the year,” Firenze said cryptically.

“Wha’s tha’ got to do with this?” Hagrid asked grumpily.

“Mercury is the ruling house of Gemini and Virgo,” Firenze replied before turning his gaze out of the window and up at the stars.

The Headmistress had never been as skilled as Albus in dealing with Centaurs. She found their mysterious utterings on planetary movements to be frustrating. Why couldn’t they just come and say what they wanted to say? Why always wrap it up in layers of astrology? She decided to ignore it.

“So do you think we could look to partner those two up?” she asked her Potions Professor.

Horace nodded miserably and he wasn’t the only one to who didn’t look convinced that this could work. But Minerva was confident that the prophecy would come true if they put enough time and energy into it.

“What about their friends?” Aurora said.

“What about them?”

“If we want to promote getting that particular couple together then it isn’t going to work if their friends are actively agitating against it.”

Minerva groaned. This whole thing was one big nightmare. “I guess I’ll need to get them on board. In fact, the whole school heard the prophecy so maybe we should explain it to them and then get their help in pushing Hermione and Draco together.”

“How are we going to do that without Hermione and Draco being there, too?” Pomona asked.

Minerva thought about it for a while before she jumped on the only excuse she could think of. “Detention. Horace, you have them first thing tomorrow, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Good. Manufacture a reason to give them detention – but only those two.”

“Telling them they’re going to be partners in a project would probably do the trick,” Filius said impishly.

Horace scowled. This Potions job was proving to be a poisoned chalice.

\---------

“So, do you think the Unspeakable has already been here?” Ron asked Hermione for what felt like the fiftieth time.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask the Headmistress? Or, better yet, consult a crystal ball.”

“You’re not funny.”

They were lined up outside of the Potions classroom, waiting for Slughorn to let them in. Hermione was glad to get back to something normal, because thinking about the prophecy was driving her nuts. It was all ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’, and she preferred dealing in facts.

Finally, Professor Slughorn appeared and they all traipsed into the classroom. The first thing Hermione noticed was that the classroom furniture had changed. Gone were the large desks where groups of four could gather around. Instead, they had more standardised desks for two, just larger and taller to accommodate the cauldrons and the required space for chopping up ingredients. They moved forward to claim the best seating.

“Hang on a minute. Do not sit down until your name has been called. Stand against the wall.”

The class looked at each other in confusion. What was this about? They never had arranged seating. Not even Professor Snape - in his most sadistic mood - had done that.

“Okay, so we’re going to be producing a couple of complicated potions until the end of term, so I’ve divided you into pairs. I expect you to do the research and essays I set in these pairs. Your partner is non-negotiable.”

The class groaned - this sounded awful. Usually, something like this would excite Hermione; a project that would give them an opportunity for more independent study, but not if she had to suffer it with a partner. Maybe she would be lucky and be partnered with either Harry or Ron. Then she could still treat it as an individual task. But then again, she couldn’t really see Professor Slughorn doing that. If he was going to partner them with their friends, then why bother to assign them partners? They could sort that out by themselves. Maybe she would get a Ravenclaw. That wouldn’t be too bad, either. She got on well with them and they took their work as seriously as she did.

Her eyes ran over the four Slytherins at the end of the line. As long as it was anyone but them she would be okay. She couldn’t imagine that her project would go off peacefully if she were forced to partner with one of the snakes. They would most likely spend the days arguing over blood status or something equally moronic and backward.

“I’m going to read out the list alphabetically and I expect no complaints. If you start moaning, I will give you detention,” The Potions Master warned.

The class looked warily at each other. If he was threatening them with punishment then it probably meant he was planning on partnering them with hideous people.

“Very well. Our first pair is Terry Boot and Theo Nott – take that seat at the front on the right, please.”

The two boys looked at each other. That wasn’t too bad. Ravenclaw was the house that got on with the Slytherins the most. They made their way over to the front row and sat down.

“Secondly, Michael Corner and Ron Weasley – that table at the front on the left, please.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile at that pairing. Ron hadn’t completely forgiven Michael for dating Ginny.

“Tracey Davis and Padma Patil – take that desk on the middle right, please.”

Hermione couldn’t help but mentally curse as Davis went. For a Slytherin, she was pretty harmless, probably because she was a half-blood. She had never joined in on the jibes about Hermione’s blood. If she was going to partner with a Slytherin, she would have preferred her.

“Anthony Goldstein and Ernie MacMillan – please take that seat in middle left.”

The two Dumbledore’s Army old-timers grinned at each other.

Hermione quickly looked around and groaned as she saw who was left. Please, please, please let her be partnered with Harry. She might be able to cope with Zabini at a pinch but Malfoy? No way! But she didn’t have much hope; no one had been partnered with someone from their own house yet.

“Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy – take that desk at the back on the right, please.”

She closed her eyes as the awful truth became clear. How could Professor Slughorn even think to partner her with him? The person who had been cruellest to her since she had arrived at Hogwarts. She looked over at him and saw that he was refusing to move, his arms were crossed and he was leaning against the wall with a mutinous expression on his face. Well, she was damned if she was going to accept the situation if he wasn’t. Professor Slughorn wasn’t even looking as he was still gazing down at his parchment.

“And finally, Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini – please take the seat at the back on the left.”

Harry, with a sympathetic look at Hermione, left to sit at his assigned desk.

The class stared at the two students that were left and standing against the wall. Hermione crossed her arms and stared out of the window. She refused to look in Malfoy’s direction and she wasn’t going to look cowed and scared by staring down at the floor.

The silence lengthened and Hermione looked over at the Potions Professor. “Well?” he said. “I believe I’ve told you two where to sit. Kindly make your way over there.”

“I’m not working with her,” Malfoy said.

“I didn’t give you a choice. Now move!”

“No. I _won’t_ work with her,” the Slytherin said stubbornly.

Hermione looked him up and down before facing the Professor. “I won’t work with him, either,” she said clearly.

“Fine. Then please take your things and leave. You are no longer welcome in my Potions class and you will not be entered in for the N.E.W.T.s examination at the end of the year.”

She gulped. That was hitting her where it hurt. Everybody in the school knew how seriously Hermione took her schooling. To not be entered in for an exam would be unthinkable. She looked anxiously at Slughorn.

“Excuse me?” Malfoy sneered. “You can’t refuse to enter me. Malfoys have sat the Potions N.E.W.T.s since Hogwarts was opened.”

“I guess that means you’ll be the first Malfoy to not gain a N.E.W.T. in this subject.”

The blond stared the Professor down for a good minute or two, before his pride was worn down by the real prospect of being kicked out. Hermione thought she heard him mumble about the school going to the dogs as he passed her.

“Miss Granger? What will it be?” Slughorn asked.

She drummed her fingers against her thighs as she fully weighed all the options. She caught Harry’s gaze and he nodded his head in the direction of the desk as if to tell her not to be crazy and just sit down. She was set to gain more N.E.W.T.s than anyone else since Professor Dumbledore himself. Was she really going to sacrifice that for her pride?

She almost did that. She was about to pick up her bag and walk out, when she caught sight of the smug expression on Malfoy’s face. He thought she was going to leave. Well, screw that! She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of not having to work with her but still sit his Potions N.E.W.T. She strolled slowly to the desk, watching the smirk disappear and a frown take its place. If he thought she was going to make his life easy at the expense of hers, then he could think again.

“I will see you both here for detention at seven o’clock this evening,” Professor Slughorn said, turning his back on the class and motioning the chalk to write on the board.

“You should have walked out, Granger. I’m going to make working with me a misery.”

She turned and coolly appraised him. “I’m not scared of you, Malfoy. I can take you both magically and physically,” she said, cracking her knuckles.

He paled and went rigid. She was pleased to see that he was trembling.

“What’s the matter, ickle Malfoy? Are you scared of the big bad Muggle-born?” she mocked.

“Watch your back, Granger,” he threatened.

“Ooooh … you’re so scary … for a failed Death Eater … not.”

That set the tone for the rest of the lesson. They bickered incessantly about everything: from her books being on his side of the desk, to his refusal to share any ingredients, to who was going to research what and more. Hermione was exhausted by the time the lesson finished. She trailed out the classroom, feeling miserable.

Harry looped an arm around her shoulder. “It couldn’t have been that bad!”

“It was worse. He’s _awful_! I’m going to end up in Azkaban for murdering him and I won’t be allowed to take my Potions N.E.W.T., so maybe I should just quit now.”

“I thought you were going to walk out,” Ron commented. “You looked as if you were going to.”

“I almost did, but then I saw his face and realised that I would be making it easy for him. If I murder him, at least he won’t be able to take his N.E.W.T.s, either.”

“And on the plus side, Malfoys will cease to exist,” Ron said cheerfully.

The three of them burst out laughing. That was what she needed to cheer her up after her nightmare of a lesson with Malfoy.

\------

Horace leaned back in his chair and wiped his brow. He had never had to chair such a fraught lesson before, or threaten to chuck two students off his N.E.W.T.s-level course. He had been concerned that Hermione was actually going to walk out, which would not only have ruined the plans of the Headmistress, but would have seen the most talented student in the school leave his class. He prided himself on how many of his students got Outstandings, and Hermione was definitely going to get one. He really wasn’t feeling too charitable towards either Minerva or Filius for putting him that position. And he still had to look forward to supervising a detention with the combative pair. The warfare that had sustained itself the whole lesson hadn’t passed him by. Why, oh why had he allowed Albus to persuade him to come back to teach?

“Horace?” a voice called from the door.

He jumped and looked up to see Minerva’s head poking around the door. Great, now the Headmistress was here. No doubt to see what kind of progress he had made. He reluctantly beckoned her in.

She closed the door behind her. “So? How did it go?”

He grimaced. “I partnered them up and I nearly lost two good students.”

“What happened?”

“They refused to work with each other. I had to threaten to throw them off the course and not enter them to sit their N.E.W.T.s”

“Horace! You had no right to do that!”

“I know! But they don’t know that. You try getting two of the most stubborn people to work with someone they hate. It motivated them enough to actually sit at the same table.”

“Did it get any better?”

“No,” he scowled. “They proceeded to fight their way through the lesson. If this is how it’s going to be, then I’m going have to silence them just to let the others work in peace.”

“Oh dear,” Minerva lamented. “Did you at least get them out of the way for tonight?”

“Yes. They have detention with me at seven o’clock, straight after dinner finishes, although how I’m going to keep them from killing each other, I don’t know.”

She beamed at him. “Well done, Horace.”

He grumbled in reply.


	3. The Detention Disaster

Draco stormed his way up from the dungeons to Charms. He was absolutely fuming over this whole situation. To be stuck with that infernal swotty know-it-all was beyond anything. He’d thought for one shining moment that she was going to do it - actually just walk out - but no, she’d seemed to realise what that would mean and had sat her stupid arse down on the seat beside him. Now he was stuck with her for the rest of term.

“Draco! Wait!” Blaise called out from behind him.

Draco stopped, letting his friend catch up. Blaise reached him, panting and out of breath. “Merlin, Draco. Slow down a bit.”

He turned and Blaise stepped back from the anger in his eyes. “It’s only one class, mate.”

“For the rest of the term,” he spat.

“It’s November already, I’m sure it’ll fly by.”

“She’s hideous. I want to _Avada Kedavra_ her!” he raged.

“Hello, losers!” Theo greeted as he came walking down the corridor.

“Piss off,” he seethed.

“Now, now, Draco. We can’t all be lucky enough to have a Ravenclaw to work with. Sadly for you two, you got stuck with Gryffindorks.”

Theo stood there smugly, buffing his fingernails on his robes. Draco narrowed his eyes at him before turning to look at Blaise. The other Slytherin nodded back. They then jumped their friend and soon had him pinned to the wall, his wand confiscated.

“Hey! There’s no need to be bitter.”

“You try getting stuck with the bossiest bookworm ever and see how pleased you’d be.”

“Or pratty Potter. At least Granger has some brains. Potter’s gormless,” Blaise said.

“Old Slughorn obviously recognised the good in me and rewarded me with a decent partner,” Theo bit back.

Draco and Blaise hit him with a Tickling Charm - hard. For anyone outside of Slytherin, it would seem pretty harmless, but Theo was so ticklish it was practically torture for him.

“Stop! Stop!” he gasped, doubling over with laughter.

“Not until you stop being a smug git.”

“Okay, I’ll play nice, I promise.”

They lifted the charm and Theo panted, looking extremely dishevelled. “I hate you guys. One day you’re going to kill me.”

“We live in hope,” Draco mocked.

“I’m going to kill Pansy. This is all her fault.”

The Slytherin seventh-years had found out about Theo’s ticklish problem two years ago when Pansy had burst out of the boys’ dorm room at the end of their sixth year, giggling hysterically. She had tried to give her boyfriend a massage and instead of relaxing him, it had turned him into a writhing, wriggling mess, as he’d tried to appreciate it and stifle his laughter. Since then, whenever Theo had annoyed any of them, they hit him with the Tickling Charm.

“We’re Slytherin. We’d be doing our house a disservice if we didn’t take advantage of your weakness,” Blaise said.

“Whatever happened to house loyalty? Shouldn’t you be off exploiting some Hufflepuff’s weakness instead?”

“But yours is so much more fun,” Draco chuckled.

“You’re looking more cheerful now,” Blaise said to him.

“I find taking my bad mood out on Theo is therapeutic.”

“I’d watch out if I was you, Theo. Draco is going to need a lot of therapy being partnered with Granger.”

Draco scowled once more at the thought. Ugh … and he had to serve detention with her tonight. She was going drive him into the Janus Thickey ward, that was for sure.

\--------

Harry was sitting with Hermione, Ron and Ginny as usual at dinner that night. They were trying to cheer Hermione up, who was dreading her detention in Malfoy’s company. She had wanted to spend more time working on deciphering the prophecy, too.

“If I could have your attention, please?”

The four of them looked towards the front of the Hall, where Professor McGonagall was standing at the podium. The room quietened down quickly.

“Thank you. Now, after the events of yesterday evening, I would like you all to remain behind when dinner finishes at seven. I have some things I would like to explain.”

“See, Hermione, you’ve got out of that detention!” Ron whispered across to Hermione, who was sitting next to Harry.

“Maybe I can re-arrange if for a time where I can serve it alone. Without Malfoy,” she said cheerfully.

“I think Slytherin have their Quidditch training tomorrow night, so you might be in luck,” Harry informed her.

She smiled at him. “Let’s hope so. It’s bad enough having to spend time with him on this project.”

They turned back to the Headmistress to see that she was discussing something with Professor Slughorn. “Oh please, no,” Hermione moaned.

Professor McGonagall turned and made her way back to the podium. “Professor Slughorn informs me that he has two students serving detention with him at this time. The detention will go ahead and I will fill those two students in at a later date.”

Hermione groaned and banged her head on the table, much to the amusement of the Gryffindor table. Harry patted her back soothingly. “Never mind. Think about it, the sooner you get there, the quicker it will be over.”

She lifted her head up and pouted at him. “It’s Malfoy; nothing is going to go quickly.”

The desserts appeared and Ron thrust a cinnamon swirl at her. “Look, Hermione, your favourite.”

She took it and gave her friends a small smile. “Thanks, Ron.”

Harry watched as she munched disconsolately on the pastry. His eyes swivelled over to the Slytherin table, where Malfoy looked as miserable as she did. What was Professor Slughorn thinking partnering those two up? He understood that the Potions Master wanted them out of their comfort zone - so he’d partnered them up with different houses - but wouldn’t it have been better to give the one Muggle-born in the class a Ravenclaw? Or at least Tracey Davis. Making her work with Malfoy was cruel.

All too soon it was time for Hermione to leave. She got several pats on the back as she made her way down the Gryffindor table towards the exit. There was silence in the Great Hall as she and Malfoy met at the entrance. It was almost as if the student body was expecting a fight whilst they waited for Professor Slughorn to join them. But all that happened was a staring competition.

“Come along,” Professor Slughorn said irritably. The pair trailed reluctantly behind him.

Professor McGonagall waited until their footsteps were out of range before speaking again. “As you know, we had an incident happen yesterday at dinner. It appeared that Professor Trelawney made a prophecy that could affect the very future of magic. Last night, I informed the Ministry and requested a visit from an Unspeakable, who came today to investigate and record it. I hate to have to inform you of this, but it appears that the prophecy is real.”

She had to break off as shocked whispers and exclamations rang out around the Hall. Harry turned to look at Ron and Ginny, and saw his amazement reflected back in their wide eyes. He then had an urge to bang his head repeatedly on the table. How could this be happening? Surely he deserved one quiet year at Hogwarts without any world-changing situations propping up?

The Headmistress told them to be quiet once more. “As you can imagine, the Ministry is taking this prophecy extremely seriously, as it has a very pressing time limit that is just over six weeks away.”

Harry tried hard not to panic. He looked around and saw that many others were doing the same. Especially those - like the Weasleys - who had no real idea of what the Muggle world consisted of. If magic ceased to exist, they would struggle to survive without it.

“There is no need to be alarmed just yet-” Professor McGonagall started to say.

“How can you say that? We have six weeks to save magic and no clue where to start,” Ernie MacMillan called out from the Hufflepuff table. There were agreeing murmurs around the Hall.

“Now, Mr. MacMillan, I think you are getting ahead of yourself. In fact, we have a very good idea who the prophecy was referring to and have already started to put steps in place to help it along.”

“What steps?” Harry found himself shouting out.

“Who does it refer to?” a fourth-year Ravenclaw yelled.

The Headmistress put her hand up. “If you would all stop jumping in and allow me to explain, the quicker I would be able to fill you all in.”

Silence rang out around the Hall. The students were on the edge of their seats, staring up at the podium, desperate to know the answers.

“Now, the prophecy spoke of ‘the snake and the lion’. I think we can safely say that it is referring to Gryffindor and Slytherin. Then it gave us defining features of the two people needed to fall in love. ‘The purest of the pure and the cleverest of them all’. Having spent the afternoon discussing this with Unspeakable Morgan, we have come to the conclusion that ‘the cleverest of the them all’ refers to Hermione Granger.”

There were titters around the Hall. No one could deny that. Although Harry felt a sinking sadness that Hermione was once more intimately involved in having to save the magical world.

“And with confirmation from his great-great-great-great-grandfather, we deduced that ‘the purest of the pure’ is Draco Malfoy.”

A cacophony of sound broke out. Harry could only stare at his girlfriend and best friend in shock. This had to be some kind of joke. Was magic really relying on Hermione to fall in love with Ferret Boy in order to survive? There was more hope of Cornelius Fudge being elected as the Muggle Prime Minister.

“You’re kidding, right?” Theo Nott called out from the Slytherin table.

“No, Mr. Nott. I wouldn’t joke about such a matter.”

“Well, that’s never going to happen. Draco hates that swotty know-it-all,” Nott replied.

“And what about Hermione? She wouldn’t touch that nasty pure-blood prat if he was the last wizard on earth!” Ron yelled out, firing up in his friend’s defence.

Harry just took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. He was developing a headache. He saw Professor McGonagall sigh up at the podium.

“If you could _please_ be quiet now and stop throwing insults around! We professors have thought of ways to give Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy some time alone.”

Aha! So Professor Slughorn hadn’t run mad in Potions. It was all part of a plot to match-make the unlikely pair.

“We would be grateful if you could help encourage this and not look to stoke up their rivalry any further. Obviously, we do not want either of them aware of what the prophecy means. I will be telling them that it was fake, so do not discuss it in front of them. In order to help facilitate this, I ask the Gryffindor and Slytherin seventh-years to stay behind.”

Harry and Ron stayed rooted in their seats, whilst Ginny slowly got up to leave.

“Don’t worry, we’ll tell you everything,” Ron said to her.

It took about ten minutes to empty the Hall, but at last everyone had disappeared, leaving just the seventh-year Gryffindors, Slytherins and Professor McGonagall. The Headmistress stepped down and gestured for everyone to sit around the Ravenclaw table: neutral territory. Harry found himself face to face with Blaise Zabini. He looked at Ron, who was glaring daggers at Theo Nott, who was opposite him. _Great, this is off to a fine start_ , he thought.

“Thank you for staying,” Professor McGonagall began. “I’m not going to try and paint a positive picture. You, out of all the school, know how difficult it will be to fulfil this prophecy. There has never been anything other than hatred between the pair.”

Zabini snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

The Headmistress pursed her lips. “Thank you for your helpful input, Mr. Zabini. Now, as I said earlier, we have already put some schemes in place to help try and promote a greater understanding, and possibly, more tender feelings between Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy. One of them is the detention they have tonight, along with their project together in Potions. However, we could do with your help in planning some more as we’re not optimistic that it will be enough. You know the pair better than most.”

“Look, I don’t want to put a damper on everything, but there is no way Draco is going to fall in love with a Muggle-born, let alone Granger. He’s a Malfoy and they only marry pure-bloods. So I really don’t see the point in us all playing Cupid,” Nott reiterated.

“The point, Nott, is that unless we try, magic will cease to exist! So unless Malfoy wants to become a Muggle, he’d better fall in love with a Muggle-born.” Harry snapped.

“Besides, the prophecy would only suggest a couple that are destined soul mates,” Ron pointed out.

Everyone stared at him in shock. “What? I’m not thick.”

“And Hermione had us hitting the books last night looking at everything to do with prophecies,” Neville added.

“Mr. Weasley is correct,” Professor McGonagall said. “Unspeakable Morgan confirmed to me that the prophecy would only match those who are compatible.”

“So, we’re to believe that Draco and Granger are celestially meant-to-be?” Daphne Greengrass asked.

“As unrealistic as that would seem to be, yes.” The Headmistress replied.

“This will be fun,” Nott commented dryly.

\----------

Hermione followed Professor Slughorn into the Potions classroom. He gestured for them to sit down, which they did – at separate tables.

The professor shook his head at the pair. “I’m very disappointed in your behaviour. You are seventh-years - you’re meant to be adults now. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for the regrettable incident with Voldemort, you wouldn’t be here, but out in the world making your way. Instead, you behave like a pair of second-years with your childish actions.”

Hermione wished she didn’t feel ashamed but she did. The Potions Master was right. They were adults. She was nineteen, for goodness sake. She sneaked a brief look at her fellow student but he was sneering at the Professor with disdain. Maybe it wasn’t so hard to understand why she behaved in such a way; Malfoy was designed to bring the worst out of decent witches and wizards everywhere.

“Now, my supply cupboard is a mess and your job this evening is to clean it up and organise it. You will not use any magic. In fact, I’ll take your wands. You are both bright students, so I do not expect any messing around. I’ll be out here marking essays if you have any questions.”

The two students remained seated, staring at the cupboard, which was situated at the back of the classroom. “Go on then!” Professor Slughorn snapped.

Hermione dragged herself out of the seat and made her way over to the cupboard. She entered and gasped as she saw the mess it was in. It was almost as if a herd of Hippogriffs had been let loose in there. This was going to take ages.

“Get started then, Granger,” Malfoy drawled behind her.

She turned and saw him lounging against the wall nearest the door. “If you think I’m going to do all the work whilst you watch, then you need to think again. I’m not carrying your lazy arse.”

“Malfoys don’t clean up after others, that’s the job of house-elves and Muggle-borns.”

_Breathe_ , Hermione said to herself. _Don’t let him get to you. He’s not worth it_. She stiffened her back and looked at the blond Slytherin. “Get over yourself, Malfoy. You cleaned up after Voldemort well enough, so let’s not go giving ourselves unnecessary airs and graces.”

His shoulders tensed and his jaw clenched. She smirked inwardly. Good, she’d touched a nerve. If the stupid prat thought that he could order her around then he was in for a shock.

“Shut up,” he hissed, but she was pleased to see that he turned to the nearest shelf and started to yank vials and jars off, placing them in the middle of the room.

“Don’t forget to clean the shelves,” Professor Slughorn called from the other room.

“Useless, fat git,” she heard Malfoy mumble. She would have called him out on disrespecting a professor but at this precise moment in time, she agreed.

They managed to get most of the way through cleaning and reorganising the cupboard in silence. It helped that they on separate sides of the room and had their backs turned to each other. But soon there was only a small section of the cupboard left and, unfortunately, it meant working side-by-side.

Hermione felt something cold and slimy splash her neck. She turned to see Malfoy enthusiastically scrubbing at a stain, with bits of dried up Billywig Stingsflying out.

“Malfoy!” she yelled. “You’re getting that everywhere, including on me.”

He stopped what he was doing, looked up and pushed his hair out of his face. She was fascinated to see that he had tinge of pink shading his cheeks and was puffing slightly. It appeared cleaning wasn’t something he’d done before. She couldn’t help but notice that the colour in his cheeks suited him. She shook her head slightly. What had that been about? She didn’t find Malfoy attractive or pleasant at any time.

He examined her neck, which she imagined was now stained with dirt. “I knew there had to be perks to this whole pathetic exercise.”

She glared at him. “Stop being a prick and stop splashing me as you clean.”

Malfoy smirked. “What are you going to do if I don’t?”

She raised her hand threateningly. “I’m sure you remember my little friend here. If I remember correctly, it gave you one hell of a slap a few years ago.”

He scowled. “Just try it, Granger.”

“Or what? You’ll hurt me? You’re nothing but a coward, Malfoy.”

He walked towards her, backing her against the shelf and looming large. “Don’t push me.”

She scoffed and pushed at his chest. “Move!” she ordered.

“Or what? You’ll hurt me?” he mocked, repeating her words from a few moments ago.

She lost all patience with the game and lashed out, slapping him once more. He jumped back and raised his hand to his cheek. “What the bloody hell is your problem?!”

“You should have moved.”

“You can’t just go around hitting people!”

“Are you a person? Sorry, I thought you were a cold-blooded excuse of a wizard.”

Before Hermione could dance out of his way, his hands shot out and grabbed her upper arms, pinning her in place. She squirmed, trying to break his hold, but at some point over the years, he’d become much stronger than her. She also felt something other than alarm tingle down her spine. She didn’t think they’d ever touched before – well, unless you counted her two slaps, but that was minimal and fleeting contact. His hands were large and warm and they seemed to fit her shoulders perfectly. Get a grip, Hermione! she lectured herself. It’s Malfoy.

He assessed her, as if not sure what to do with her now he had her at his mercy, but then a glint appeared in his eyes, which was worrying. He reached with a hand for the bucket of dirty, soapy water he’d been using to clean the shelves. She could read his intention in his eyes. She tried to kick at his shins but he pulled her in close and trapped her feet in between his.

“Don’t even think about it!” she hissed.

“Maybe this would be more effective in taming your hair than the shampoo you currently use.”

“You’ll regret it,” she threatened.

“Ooh, I’m so scared. Unless it escaped your notice, I’m the one in charge here at the moment.”

Professor Slughorn chose than moment to give a precipitous snore. She raised her eyes in glee to Malfoy. “Just try it, and I’ll scream so loudly Professor Slughorn will come running in to see what’s happened.”

Malfoy looked as if he briefly considered what the consequences of that could be before he smirked evilly. “The satisfaction of seeing you covered in dirty water more than makes up for any detention I’ll get.”

And then he threw the bucket of water over her, also managing to let go and leap out of the way. She stood there in shock for a minute, with the icy water dripping down the back of her neck and down her robes. However, she was galvanised into action as she looked at Malfoy’s grinning face. A red mist descended and before she knew it, she had jumped on him, the surprise of her weight knocking him backwards and onto floor.

“You git!” she screamed, pummelling him with her fists.

“Get off me, you crazy cow!” he yelled back.

She ignored him, continuing to hit every part of him she could, lost to all sense of propriety as she cursed and swore at him.

She was suddenly lifted away, banging into a corner of the Potions supply cupboard. This action silenced her and she took a moment to regain her breath and swipe her wet and muddy hair off her face. She saw Malfoy pinned up across the cupboard from her with Professor Slughorn red-faced and angry in the middle.

“I have never in all my years as a professor seen such disgraceful behaviour during a detention! I am appalled that you consider this a fitting way to behave. The first-years show more maturity and sense than either of you!” he scolded, panting loudly with the exertion of running across the classroom and into the cupboard to separate them.

“You will come back every night for a week and for longer if you don’t learn to behave yourselves. The Headmistress will also hear about this,” he continued. “Now, before I let you down, can you control yourselves long enough until you return to your common rooms?”

Hermione nodded and saw Malfoy do the same. She did feel ashamed of her behaviour; however, she couldn’t help but feel slightly smug as she took in the red blotches that patterned Malfoy’s skin and the long scratch mark that ran down the side of his face. Once more, she’d shown him that she was no witch to mess with.

“Good. Now get out of my sight and return here at seven o’clock tomorrow evening,” the old Professor sighed, looking thoroughly miserable at the idea of having to deal with them again.

She reclaimed her wand from the Potions Master and haughtily made her way out of the cupboard and the classroom. She refused to look at Malfoy, but she could hear him following behind her.

She squelchedher way back up to Gryffindor Tower, muttering the whole time about disgusting ferrets. The Fat Lady gasped as she came into sight.

“What happened to you?” the portrait asked curiously.

“I came over with a case of Slytherinitis.”

The Fat Lady chuckled. “I hope whoever did this to you looks worse.”

“You can count on that,” Hermione said with relish before saying the password.

The portrait hole swung open and she stepped into the Gryffindor common room. The reaction to her appearance wasn’t any less dramatic than the Fat Lady’s.

“It’s just a bit of muddy water, guys,” she grumbled.

“I take it detention went badly?” Harry asked.

“Malfoy thought it would be really amusing to chuck a bucket of dirty water over me. Now we’ve got another week’s worth of detentions.”

Hermione was so busy grimacing at the puddle that was accumulating under her robes that she missed the concerned look that passed between Harry and Ron. “I’m going to have a bath,” she said as she traipsed her way upstairs.


	4. The Broomstick Debacle

The Great Hall’s reaction to Malfoy’s entrance at breakfast the morning after their first detention would remain as one of Hermione’s fondest memories of Hogwarts. The gasps and titters that followed him as he stalked his way over to the Slytherin table was music to her ears.

“Is that your handiwork?” Ginny asked.

“Yep,” she stated proudly.

“Nice job!” Ron enthused before ruffling her hair.

She preened under the approval of her housemates but missed the anxious look between Ginny and Harry and didn’t hear the kick that connected with Ron’s shin or his muffled gasp of pain, mainly because she was too busy enjoying the moment. However, she caught the eyes of Professor McGonagall, who looked both saddened and concerned and she felt a brief pang of guilt as the Headmistress was constantly trying to improve relations between the two houses. She then remembered that she still had to hear what the prophecy was all about.

“Hey, I forgot to ask you last night what Professor McGonagall said about the prophecy and the Unspeakable visit.”

“She said it was a fake,” Harry said airily.

“A fake? But you said Trelawney behaved in the same manner she had when she made the Wormtail prophecy.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “I didn’t really understand the explanation. When are you seeing the Headmistress?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, annoyed that he was being so vague.

“I’m sure she’ll explain it to you.”

“Okay, but we’ll start working on it later tonight, right?”

“Er … no, sorry, I said I’d go over the Potions notes with Zabini.”

“Yeah, and Michael wants help with researching,” Ron added.

“Besides, what’s the point if it’s fake?” Harry asked.

Hermione didn’t have an answer to that - he was right. But still, she was curious about the whole situation. The unsettling feeling that somehow this concerned her hadn’t gone away.

But before she could voice her disapproval at their reluctance to do further research, a school owl landed next to her with a parchment tied to its leg. She untied the letter, smoothed it out and started to read. “Oh, it seems Professor McGonagall wants to meet with me this afternoon. Good, at least she’ll be able to answer my questions.”

None of her friends reacted towards the sly dig so Hermione sat there wondering how they could tell it was a fake. Harry had seemed convinced that it was real the night it happened.

\-------

Hermione made her way up to the Headmistress’ office after classes that afternoon. She groaned when she saw Malfoy arrive in front of the guarding gargoyles just before her. As if she wasn’t seeing enough of him already - now she was going to have to face this meeting in his presence. She stood behind him and sniggered as he rooted through his pockets, trying to find the piece of parchment with the password on it.

He whirled around, irritation written large on his face. “If you’re so amazing then you say the password.”

She snootily stepped passed him and said the password without having to consult any paper. She heard him mutter, “Bloody know-it-all.”

“Nice face, Malfoy. It’s an improvement,” she said without bothering to look behind her. She didn’t need to see the scowl that he sent her way; she could imagine it perfectly well.

They crowded onto the spiral staircase and leant awkwardly away from each other as it moved upwards to the Headmistress’ office. Once it stopped, Hermione knocked on the door.

“Come in,” replied Professor McGonagall.

Hermione twisted the doorknob and opened the door. She glared as Malfoy barged past her but it didn’t surprise her; he was always insufferably rude.

“Please take a seat, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said, indicating two seats opposite her desk.

The two students sat silently and waited for the Headmistress to explain.

“I’m sure your fellow housemates have already informed you that the prophecy, thankfully, was false. I’ll give you the same explanation that I gave them: Arwydd Morgan, the Unspeakable who came to investigate it informed me that Professor Trelawney made what they call a ‘shadow prophecy’. It feels and presents as a true prophecy but is in fact her subconscious reacting to her powers. It’s very rare but can present when a Seer is … er … imbibing alcoholic drinks a little too freely.”

Malfoy snorted next to her, obviously unimpressed with the Divination Professor and for once, Hermione found herself in agreement with his disdain. It also explained Harry and Ron’s disinterest in further exploring the prophecy. She’d read all about shadow prophecies the other night when they were doing their initial research.

However, she was squirming in her seat at Professor McGonagall’s next words.

“Now, moving on. I’ve spoken to Professor Slughorn about the debacle of a detention yesterday evening and I have to say, I’m very disappointed by your behaviour. I expect my seventh-years to behave with a certain amount of decorum, which neither of you have shown recently. It is not acceptable for you to brawl with each other and if you find yourselves unable to behave in a befitting manner during your upcoming detentions, I will find myself forced to intervene. Understand?”

Hermione’s cheeks reddened under the stern gaze of the Headmistress but she nodded her agreement. It was shameful to be taken to task at the age of nineteen in such a way and in front of Malfoy. At least he was being scolded as well.

“As punishment for your behaviour, I have refused to allow Madam Pomfrey to heal any cuts or bruises that you received from your contretemps.”

Hermione smirked. She had wondered why Malfoy was walking around with the marks of devastation she’d wreaked on his face. Having just suffered a cold shower with dirty water, this wasn’t much of a punishment in Hermione’s opinion. But maybe the Headmistress was getting revenge for the years of Malfoy being a monumental prat.

\--------

The next week of detentions went fairly smoothly thanks to the unspoken truce between Hermione and Draco after their stern talking to from Professor McGonagall. They knuckled down and got through the remaining tasks set by Professor Slughorn without exchanging more than a few necessary words. They also managed to work cooperatively together in their Potions assignment as long as they only spoke to each when needed. They divided up the tasks and worked separately on them, defeating the whole purpose of them working together. The population of Hogwarts viewed this development with exasperation. They needed more than cooperative silence between the pair. The Headmistress called an emergency meeting in her office with the Heads of House and the close seventh-year friends of Hermione and Draco.

“I think I preferred the continual fighting,” Filius Flitwick complained. “At least that showed some passion. This cold silence is incredibly discouraging.”

Several heads were nodded disconsolately in agreement.

“Whilst it’s pleasing to see that they’re not trying to kill each other anymore, they aren’t moving fast enough. Polite interaction isn’t enough,” Minerva commented. “Fortunately, Madam Hooch came to me with a plan.”

The ears of her audience perked up. “She pointed out that Hermione can barely ride a broom and she’s come up with a daring plan to have Draco teach her to fly.”

“How would that work? If Hermione wanted to learn to fly she’d come to either me or Ron,” Harry said.

“Don’t worry, I have something to counter that. I just need you and your Slytherin counterparts to spread the news that no one is to offer to teach her in your Houses and Professors Flitwick and Sprout to do the same in theirs,” the Headmistress said before outlining the plan, interrupted only by gasps and chuckles.

\-----------

A couple of days after the detentions finished, Hermione stared at the Gryffindor notice board in disbelief. What was going on recently? It seemed as if the professors had gone slightly insane. Thinking about it, it appeared most of the student body had joined them. She came close to tears as she realised her precious N.E.W.T. scores might be affected by the – frankly – stupid rule currently greeting her eyes.

“Hey Hermione, what’s up?” Ginny asked, coming up behind her.

She whirled around to face her closest female friend and flung out an arm, gesturing towards the notice board. “Have you seen this?”

Ginny took a minute to scan the pinned up parchment that was currently enraging her friend. “Oh, yeah. Did we forget to mention this?”

“Huh? How do you already know?”

“Professor McGonagall told us about it a couple of days ago, it must have been when you were in detention with Malfoy.”

Hermione suppressed the urge to stamp her foot and took a couple of deep breaths instead. She was not going to have a tantrum over this. It was all right; she had more than enough friends who would be able to help her overcome her problem. Her phobia of thin sticks of wood that could fly wasn’t that terrible. She was sure, with a patient teacher, she could easily beat it and then she could continue on towards her N.E.W.T.s with even more confidence, knowing she had overcome the only aspect of magic to defy her yet.

She looked Ginny up and down. Hmm … everyone was always raving about Harry’s natural flying ability but Ginny was a mean Chaser and she would probably be a lot more understanding of Hermione’s issues than either Harry or Ron. Both boys had always found her inability to ride a broomstick with any sort of skill hilarious. They didn’t get why it fazed her so much because they refused to see how unnatural it was. Brooms shouldn’t fly! They were designed to clean up crumbs, not transport humans from one place to another.

“So, if I’ve got to learn how to fly in order to pass an obstacle course by the end of this term, would you teach me?”

“Oh Hermione, I’d love to! But McGonagall has limited the whole exercise to the seventh-years.”

“What?! That makes no sense!” Hermione shrieked.

“Well, she didn’t want it to get confusing. She thought it would make more sense if it was kept in one year.”

_It’s okay_ , Hermione thought. _You know plenty of seventh-years who can fly. Your two best friends for a start, even if they will laugh at you._

“It’s fine, I guess I’ll go and ask Harry,” she said, making her way up to the boys’ dorm room.

She burst through the door. “Hey Harry!” she shouted.

A head that had been buried under a pillow shot up. “Blimey, Hermione, give a guy a chance in life. You almost gave me a heart attack bursting in here, yelling like that,” Ron said grumpily.

“Sorry, but this is urgent.”

Harry sat up sleepily. “What’s wrong?” he asked with a yawn.

“I need your help with flying lessons.” She grabbed his broomstick and started walking to the door. “I’ll meet you downstairs in ten minutes. We might as well get started now.”

“Hold your horses, Hermione. I can’t.”

“What do you mean? I need to learn to fly and you’re the best flier in our year.”

“Yeah, but I already promised Neville I would coach him and we’re only allowed to take on one student so the rest of our school work doesn’t suffer.”

Neville grinned sheepishly at her from his bed in the corner. She repressed her desire to glare at him. It wasn’t his fault he’d got to Harry first.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, disappointed. She then looked at Ron. He wouldn’t be her first choice. Hell, he wasn’t her second choice, but he could fly well. It was just whether she could cope with his smart-arse comments about her lack of talent without murdering him. “Ron, see you in ten.”

Ron grinned her at her before pulling the covers back over his head. “Sorry, no can do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley already asked me if I would help him.”

Hermione was feeling thoroughly miserable now. Had neither of her supposed best friends even stopped to think about her? They knew she couldn’t fly very well. She was okay if asked to go slowly in a straight line but anything more complicated than that and she was a mess. Now she had to complete some kind of flying obstacle course before she was allowed to progress to take her N.E.W.T.s. She was already pissed off with the entire situation. There hadn’t even been a decent excuse given for why this procedure had been put in place.

She didn’t bother to hide the dirty looks she sent both Ron and Harry’s way. It was her hour of need and they were completely letting her down.

Hermione’s angry gaze moved to the other side of the room. She still had Seamus and Dean. They were both competent Quidditch players and they were both peering up at her with apprehension.

“Please tell me that one of you can teach me?” she asked, not bothering to sugar-coat the question.

They both shook their heads. She didn’t even bother to ask them whom they had promised to help. She stamped her foot, giving in to the hissy fit, flung Harry’s broomstick down on his bed and stormed out of the boys’ bedroom. She wasn’t going to waste any more time with their useless selves. She needed to find someone to teach her and fast.

\------------

Hermione was one of the first down to breakfast. She always rose early in order to maximise her time for study and it was paying off today. She lurked in the Great Hall, sipping a cup of coffee, assessing every seventh-year that came in. She decided to go for a Ravenclaw next. She had nothing against Hufflepuff, but she had so nearly been placed in Ravenclaw that she thought she would most likely find her best candidate there. Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein strode into the Hall, chatting away. She sidled up to them.

“Hello,” she said.

They broke off their conversation and smiled in return. “You’re both on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, right?”

“Yep,” Michael replied. “Chasers.”

“Good. I need someone to help me pass this obstacle course Professor McGonagall has arranged. Would either of you be able to help?”

“Sorry, Hermione, I would love to, but I’ve ready told Padma I’d help her out,” Michael responded.

“Yeah, me, too. Well, not Padma obviously, but she asked me to help Parvati,” Anthony informed her.

Blast it! Was she the last person to find out? She gave them both a vague smile and jumped on Lisa Turpin, who was walking into the Hall with Mandy Brocklehurst. Lisa was Keeper for the Ravenclaw team. Hermione didn’t know her very well, but as no Hufflepuff seventh-years were in the Great Hall yet, she didn’t have very many options.

“Lisa, have you got a minute?”

\--------

Hermione was close to tearing her hair out. She was waiting for Susan Bones, who was her last chance for help before she was going to have to bury all her pride and go and ask a Slytherin for help. Susan finally made an appearance and she rushed over.

“Susan, can I ask you a big favour?”

“Sure, Hermione, what’s up?”

“Can you help me fly? I need to pass the obstacle course McGonagall is arranging.”

Susan’s face fell. “I’m really sorry, Hermione, but I already told Ernie that I would help him.”

How many students were there who couldn’t fly? This was ridiculous. Hermione looked pleadingly at Susan. “Please, Susan, you’re the only option I have left before I have to go and ask a Slytherin.”

She saw the sympathy on the Hufflepuff’s face. “I would, Hermione, but we’ve already registered with the Headmistress. Once you’ve registered with a partner you can’t change.”

A tear of pure rage slipped out of Hermione’s eye. She looked over at the Slytherin table. All the seventh-years were gathered down one end. She had never thought her final year at Hogwarts would come to this. She’d rather go back and fight the Great Battle again than have to go over there and ask one of them to help her. They never would and even if one did, they were bound to mock her and make her a life a living misery.

She steeled her backbone. _Hermione Granger and you can do this_.

She slowly made her way over, running her eyes over the group. Who would be most sympathetic to her cause? She decided it was between Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. Zabini had been in the Slug Club with her in their sixth year - he’d been aloof but had never bothered her and Greengrass had never interacted with her. If they’d hated Muggle-borns as much as Malfoy and Parkinson had then surely they would have been part of the group that had tormented her.

The Slytherins quietened into silence as it became obvious that Hermione Granger, Muggle-born and best friend of Harry Potter, was approaching their table. Whispers broke out amongst them. She ignored the stares and focused solely on her task. She made her way to the end the seventh-years were clustered around. They all turned to look at her en masse.

She plastered a fake friendly smile on. “Hello,” she greeted cheerfully.

Silence.

_Bloody Slytherins_ , she thought.

“Er … Zabini, Greengrass, I was wondering if either of you would be willing to help me with the flying obstacle course.”

Silence.

“You can speak to me you know. I realise I’m Muggle-born but I won’t infect you if you reply,” she huffed, thoroughly put out by their rudeness.

Zabini looked her up and down before switching his gaze to the toast currently resting in his hand. “Sorry, Granger, can’t. I’m helping someone else.”

She didn’t waste anymore time talking to him but turned to look at Greengrass, who was shaking her head. She sighed. “Can any of you help me?”

Goyle was the unlikely person to answer. “We’re all taken. I’m helping Tracey Davis and Millicent is helping Pansy.”

Hermione felt pure panic streak through her. Crabbe was dead and he was the last person left who could partner her, wasn’t he? Now she was left partner-less because Crabbe had been a moron – a homicidal one. Oh, she was going to be refused permission to sit her N.E.W.T.s.

“Granger?” drawled a voice behind her. “I know you enjoyed spending all that time alone with me in detention but there’s no need to stalk me.”

She closed her eyes briefly as she realised she’d forgotten one person. There was someone left in the year that could help – Draco Malfoy.

\--------

Harry, Ron and Ginny watched as Hermione stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving Malfoy trailing in her wake. The whole Hall seemed to let out a huge sigh of relief. That had been hard.

“I felt awful having to refuse,” Ginny said.

“I know. She looked so disappointed in us when she left our room. As if we’d really forget about her,” Harry added.

“Do you think this is actually going to work?” Ron asked.

“Who knows? But if it throws them together more, then we have a hope of fulfilling that prophecy,” Harry replied.

“Yeah, but it was only a combination of Hermione’s threat to hex him and Professor’s McGonagall’s demand that he help that Malfoy did so,” Ron said.

The three looked at each other and groaned. They were doomed. There was no way Hermione and Malfoy were ever going to reconcile their differences enough to fall in love. Was it even possible that anyone could love that snarky son of a bitch?

\---------

Hermione felt the bitter taste of humiliation coat the back of her throat. Here she was once more in a position where the school broom was refusing to obey her commands. Only this time she didn’t have nice Madam Hooch’s encouragement, but the critical, mocking stare of Malfoy.

As she tried once more to get the broom to come to her hand, she glared angrily at the Slytherin. “This would be so much easier if you allowed me to use your broom.”

“You’re not coming anywhere near my baby until you can command one of those sad specimens.”

“But these are sluggish and tainted from years of use. And they’re wilful!” she huffed, as the broom refused to jump up.

Malfoy yawned. “Granger, you need to stop asking it to do what you want and command it. It’s not one of your bloody house-elves.”

He elbowed her out of the way and stood next to the broom. “Up!” he ordered and the broom immediately flew into his hand. “See?” he said smugly.

She glared. She wasn’t some spoilt pure-blood brat with no manners and didn’t like demanding things. It was rude. But the indisputable fact was that the broom had responded to Malfoy and had ignored her. _Just channel Malfoy and it’ll do what you want_ , she thought. She giggled slightly as she pictured him in a Gryffindor girl’s uniform.

“Get on with it, Granger. I don’t want to be here all day,” he grunted irritably at her.

“Up!” she demanded in her best impersonation of Malfoy’s snobby voice.

She almost fell back as the broom jumped up and smacked into her hand. “I DID IT!” she yelled, waving the broom around in a demented way.

“Well done, Granger. Now you just have to master getting on the bloody thing.”

She eyed the broom askance. She could feel it vibrating slightly in her hand, which always made her anxious. They shouldn’t do that - it was unnerving, almost as if it had a life of its own and was just waiting for her to sit on it before taking off and dropping her from a height in revenge for her daring to sit on it. She looked uncertainly at Malfoy.

“For Merlin’s sake, are you a witch or not? It’s a broomstick; it’s meant to fly. It’s magically designed to do so!”

She glared resentfully at the Slytherin but didn’t want to back down or lose faith, so she straddled the glorified branch.

“Right, now we’re just going to kick off and slowly circle the Quidditch pitch.”

Hermione nodded determinedly. She could do this, she really could. She pushed off gently from the ground and frowned as nothing happened, which deepened into a scowl as she heard the dramatic sigh from behind her.

“You actually have to kick off, Granger. A miniscule tap on the ground with your little toe isn’t going to do it.”

She set her jaw stubbornly. She’d teach him to be such a snarky git. With that thought, she slammed her foot down and aggressively kicked off from the ground. The broomstick went shooting into the sky and she screamed as she continued to rise at a rapid rate. It was going faster than any broomstick she’d been on before and she was petrified that she was going to fall off and to make matters worse, she could hear bursts of laughter from the ground.

“STOP LAUGHING AND HELP ME, YOU PRAT!” she screeched, absolutely terrified.

There was a gust of wind and a hand was suddenly on top of hers, steadying the broom. “I didn’t think anyone could be worse than Longbottom, but congratulations, Granger, I think you are.”

She suppressed her wobbling bottom lip, as there was no way she was going to break down in front of the unfeeling git. She was gripping the broomstick as tightly as possible and she could feel her arms shaking with the effort as well as the terror. She didn’t dare look down, because if she kept looking straight ahead then she could try and pretend that she was actually only hovering a few inches off the ground. It was ruined slightly by the fact that every now and again she would be engulfed in a misty cloud.

“How do I get down?” she asked, subdued.

She could feel Malfoy staring at her face as if he were assessing her. “Okay, can you tilt the broom slightly at the front?”

She tested if her arms could actually move and then nodded.

“Good, now do that slowly.”

She tipped the broomstick down hesitantly but felt a little relieved when it responded and slowly began to descend. Within a few seconds her feet were back on solid ground. However, her legs were locked, and it took some moments before she could shakily lift her left leg over the broom to dismount.

“Hmm … I think we should end today’s lesson there,” Malfoy said. “How about we meet here at the same time tomorrow?”

“Okay,” she said quietly. What she really wanted was to never go near a broomstick again but thanks to this new, ridiculous rule she didn’t have a choice. She nodded vaguely in the direction of Malfoy before walking back to the castle, where she made her way up to the library. She needed some recovery time and in comfortable, reassuring surroundings.

\------------

Draco had initially thought Granger’s first attempt on the broom was hysterically funny until he’d seen the sheer terror on her face. It was obvious that it wasn’t a lack of ability that had held her back before, but fear of flying itself. Prior to the war, he would have continued to be amused by it, but since he’d lived in fear himself, he was much more inclined to be sympathetic towards the feeling in others, even if they were swotty Gryffindors. Besides, Professor McGonagall had made it perfectly clear to him that if Granger didn’t pass the obstacle course, she was holding him responsible and it would be reflected in his marks.

So he’d spent yesterday evening trying to think of a way to relax the bushy-haired know-it-all so she could overcome her fear. He’d come up with a plan but wasn’t sure if she would go for it. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted to implement it.

His reluctance to put the plan into action wasn’t helped by some of the new – and very inconvenient – feelings he currently had towards the bossy Muggle-born. It’d started at that first detention when she’d slapped him. He’d felt outrage and a need to show her not to mess with him, but there had been an uncomfortable undertone of desire. He didn’t like to think that she turned him on in any way.

He arrived at the Quidditch pitch five minutes early and spent the time gliding around the stadium on his broomstick, enjoying the breeze. His father had offered to upgrade his broom to the Firebolt after Potter got one in their third year, but Draco was rather attached to his Nimbus 2001. Sure, the Firebolt was fast and international teams used it, but nothing beat a good partnership with a broomstick, and he had that with his Nimbus. It would hopefully work to his advantage in teaching Granger.

The shouting from the below finally caught his attention and he looked down to see the girl in question waving at him from the pitch. He swooped down and hovered next to her.

“I’ve decided we should try something different this time,” he said, jumping right into business, thinking if he kept this formal then some of his awkward feelings would dissipate.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s obvious you’re scared of flying, so we need to relax you before we’re going to make any headway on your actual flying ability.”

She tutted and crossed her arms. “I’m not scared of flying.”

He snorted. “Granger, why bother wasting time on denial? I thought you wanted to sit your N.E.W.T.s?”

“I do!”

“So why are we spending precious time debating whether you’re scared or not? Unless it escaped your notice, I was here yesterday and you were gripping that broom so tight in fear it nearly crumbled under the pressure.”

She pouted sulkily but didn’t reply. Good, if this plan was going to work then she needed to stop being her usual stubborn and annoying self.

“Put your broomstick on the sidelines over there,” he ordered.

She looked confused. “But how am I going to learn if I don’t have a broom?”

He sighed; he knew it’d been too good to last. It wasn’t Granger unless she was questioning every little thing. “You’re not going to fly that right now, so do as I say and put it over there!”

She huffed but did as he said before coming to stand back in front of him.

“Now, mount the broom and sit in front of me.”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

She glared at him but did as he said, her every action making him more than aware that she wasn’t happy about it.

“How is this going to help?”

“This is going to teach you that there’s nothing scary about flying,” he replied, leaning around her to grip onto his Nimbus and kicking off from the ground.

He could feel her breath hitch and her shoulders tense but she didn’t make a sound, which he took as a good sign. Either that, or she was so petrified she was silent for once. He slowly took them up so they were the same height as the stands and steadily began to fly in a large loop around the pitch. He made sure he kept the broom straight and did nothing to scare her. Slowly, she began to relax until she was even looking around.

Right. Time to implement phase two and get her off his Nimbus before he enjoyed the warmth she gave off any more than he currently was.

“Okay, place your hands over mine and feel how I control the broom,” he said.

She hesitantly did so, her small hands barely covering his. He made some exaggerated turns and some small ascents and descents. “See how I smoothly I make the transitions? Nothing jerky or too fast.”

She nodded and they continued like this for a bit longer until she was anticipating his movements and helping to guide the broom. He smiled slightly at her childlike enthusiasm, finding it a little adorable.

“Now I’m going to slide my hands out from under yours and you are going to take control, reckon you can do that?”

“Malfoy, I’m not sure,” she said, a little panicked.

“Trust me. I wouldn’t place my life in your hands if I thought you couldn’t do this.”

“But what if something goes wrong, like yesterday?” she asked nervously.

“Just keep doing what you’ve been doing for the past ten minutes and everything will be fine.”

He heard her gulp but then that Gryffindor backbone came to the fore and she straightened her shoulders. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Draco slid his hands out but kept them hovering over hers for a few seconds in case she flipped out and dive-bombed them into the ground. He was a little proud when she didn’t and calmly continued to fly them around the Quidditch pitch.

When a couple of laps had been completed with no accidents, he decided that it was time for her to have a go on her own.

“Bring Nora down,” he said.

“Nora?”

“The broomstick,” he said, slightly embarrassed that he’d revealed the name he’d given his Nimbus.

“‘Nora the Nimbus’?” she chuckled.

“Whatever, Granger, just bring her down.”

Laughing lightly, she did what he said and they were soon back on solid ground.

“Reckon you can have a go on your own?” he asked.

She pursed her lips but nodded determinedly. “Yes, I can do this.”

“Great! Now go and fetch your broomstick back.”

She dismounted and was quickly back with the school’s Shooting Star. She soon had commanded it up and was sitting on it waiting for further instruction. _No wonder the professors liked her so much; she was pleasingly obedient in a learning environment_ , Draco thought.

“Now, kick off _gently!_ ”

She narrowed her eyes at the reminder of the fiasco yesterday but did as he said. This time it was much smoother, but before they’d climbed too high, he saw her starting to panic and before a full-blown attack could happen, he had them back on the ground.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, her bottom lip wobbling. “The broom wasn’t responding to me as well as Nora did. It was fighting me, which is ridiculous as it’s not a sentient being! Laugh at me and I’ll hex you!”

He would have laughed but he saw her point. Despite being pieces of charmed twigs attached to a polished branch, broomsticks did have different characteristics that were almost lifelike. He’d formed a bond with his Nimbus and trusted his ability to do all sorts of outlandish flying whilst on it.

“Okay, how about we swap? You try again but on Nora this time.”

She nodded and sniffled a little.

“Cry on me, Granger and I don’t care what threats McGonagall throws at me, I’m walking off.”

That had the desired effect and the Gryffindor shot him a filthy look.

\---------

Hermione tried to calm her pounding heart as she traipsed out of the castle towards the Quidditch pitch. Today was the day of the assault course, and she was trying not to panic. Two weeks’ worth of lessons with Malfoy had done the trick and she’d steadily improved. He had been a surprisingly good teacher, both patient and innovative in his methods. She hadn’t thought she’d ever reach the stage where she actually enjoyed flying, but she had. Well, on Nora anyway.

Surprisingly, he was waiting by a tree before the Quidditch pitch and had his Nimbus in his hands. She stopped and stared at him.

“I thought I’d wish you luck,” he said a little awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

“I also wanted to offer you the use of Nora since you haven’t quite mastered those school brooms.”

She took the outstretched Nimbus, gratitude and an emotion she didn’t dare name bubbling up to the surface. “Er … thanks Malfoy. That’s really generous of you.”

“I have a vested interest in you passing. McGonagall threatened to not let me sit a couple of exams if you failed.”

She giggled. “I can’t believe you thought she’d actually go through with that. The exam board would never allow it.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t put it past our Headmistress. She’s wily and ruthless when she wants to be.”

Hermione twisted the broomstick in her hands, not really wanting to say what she was thinking but knowing she had to. “Malfoy, I wanted to say thanks for the lessons. You were really patient with me and I appreciate it.”

“Don’t get too emotional, Granger. This changes nothing between us. You need to pass and I get the kudos of having taught you to fly, something not even Wonder Boy could manage.”

And like that, he managed to destroy all the goodwill she’d been feeling towards him.


	5. The Broom Cupboard Catastrophe

For the next two weeks, things calmed between the two volatile students. No longer did they glare or scream insults at each other; however, the camaraderie of the broomstick lessons had dissipated. Instead, they worked quietly on their Potions project, discussing aspects together in a calm and rational manner. Professor Slughorn breathed a sigh of relief.

This slight thawing in their hitherto hostile relationship hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“I think we might be getting somewhere,” Professor Flitwick said, in yet another meeting in the Headmistress’ office, comprising of the Heads of House and the pair’s closest friends.

“It’s better than it was before, but it’s still not enough. Have they actually really spoken to each other outside of Potions?” Professor McGonagall asked the students.

“Uh … not that I’m aware of but Draco isn’t as vocal in his hatred of her anymore,” Zabini said.

“Hermione’s been thoughtful and said that he was nicer than she imagined he would be. But other than that… nothing,” Ron answered.

The Headmistress sighed. “This isn’t good enough. We’re in the first week of December now and although they don’t seem to hate each other anymore, they don’t appear to be moving any closer. We need to do something out of the ordinary to bring that about.”

“I hate to sound like a soppy Hufflepuff,” Nott said, receiving a glare from Pomona Sprout, “But surely the key is to get them to actually talk.”

“What’s your point, Nott? The idea of the other two stunts was to do that,” Ron pointed out aggressively.

Nott shot Ron a filthy look. “I was getting to that, if you’d let me finish. The previous tasks didn’t work because they had something else to distract them from actually having to interact. We need to put them in a situation where they only have each other to focus on.”

“Hmm … that’s a very good idea, Mr. Nott,” Minerva commended.

The Slytherin sent a triumphant look towards Ron, who looked distinctly unimpressed.

A brainstorming session on how to achieve that commenced but Harry took no part as he had the beginnings of a plot in his head. He blocked out the rest of the chatter around him and settled down to think. Five minutes later, he had the outlines of a crazy plan, but one that might work.

“I think I have it,” he said, and the room turned their attention to him. “How about a broom cupboard?”

“What?” Ron asked.

“Listening to Hermione complain for the umpteenth time the other day about catching couples kissing in broom closets gave me the idea. There’s nothing to do in a broom cupboard, they’ll be forced to talk to each other … or kiss,” he finished with a chuckle.

“You’re advocating locking them in a broom cupboard?” Zabini asked.

“Well … yes. I know it’s not the most rational plan but it would give them the time to talk without any interruptions whatsoever.”

“It’s bloody brilliant, mate,” Ron enthused.

“Either that or they’ll kill each other,” Zabini replied.

“Will their deaths release us from the prophecy?” Nott asked Professor McGonagall.

She frowned. “Stop being so morbid, Mr. Nott. I must say, Mr. Potter, that whilst I wouldn’t usually advocate locking students into cupboards, this might just work.”

Professor Flitwick stroked his chin. “We have to be ambitious with this plan. A few hours locked in isn’t going to work so I think we’ll have to trap them overnight.”

There were scandalised gasps from Professor Sprout and some of the portraits, whilst the students sniggered. However, the Headmistress was her usual practical self. “That has good benefits. If we can, we should try and aim for about twelve hours.”

“Minerva!” Professor Sprout objected.

“Yes, I know, it’s all highly irregular but desperate times lead to desperate measures. Unless we’re prepared to be unprincipled and unpredictable then these two will never bury their differences and come together.”

“How are we to arrange it? It’s not as if they are going to be conveniently wandering down a corridor together.” Professor Flitwick said.

“It’s a shame Mr. Malfoy isn’t a prefect anymore, because then I could’ve arranged for them to patrol together,” Professor McGonagall said.

“If you want, I can pretend to be ill and have him fill in for me,” Zabini offered.

“No, that would be too suspicious. If a prefect were too ill to patrol then we would never ask a student who isn’t one to fill in.”

The room fell silent as they all thought of ways to get this crazy plan to work.

“What about if Professor McGonagall arranges for them to meet with her again, maybe to go over the obstacle course or the detentions or something and then when they leave, we can have Peeves push them into a cupboard,” Ron suggested hesitantly.

“How can Peeves push them? He’s a poltergeist, he’s only semi-corporeal and cannot touch humans,” Nott said scornfully.

Ron flushed at being caught out forgetting something so basic. “How about he tricks them into one?”

“How?”

“It’s Hermione; Peeves can impersonate a student already trapped in the cupboard and there’s no way she’ll be able to walk past.”

“But Draco would. He wouldn’t care and would be happy to leave it for Granger to deal with.”

“The only way I can think is if we somehow get Draco into the cupboard, lock him in and then have Granger walk past to try and help him out,” Nott finally suggested.

“How are you going to get Draco into a cupboard?” Harry asked.

Nott scratched his nose uncomfortably, looking at the professors before replying. “A girl. More precisely: a girl who’s been pursuing him all year and whom he’s getting more and more frustrated with.”

\---------

Draco spun as the door to the cupboard slammed behind him. He rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Heather?” he called out, but there was no answer and due to the lack of light, it was too dark for him to see. He pulled his wand out, muttered _Lumos_ and a small orb of light illuminated the cupboard. He wrinkled his nose at all the dust, before realising that no one was in there with him and thought back to when he’d received the note telling him to meet Heather Armitage, a sixth-year Slytherin, in the broom cupboard that evening.

“Typical,” he murmured.

He’d received a note delivered by a giggling Slytherin fourth-year, who had winked slyly at him before handing it over. He compressed his lips as he read the missive. Heather had been trying to get him alone all term, despite the fact that he had told her on more than one occasion that he wasn’t interested. Now, she seemed to think that giving him assignation notes via other students was a way to pique his interest. If he wanted to make out with her then he would and he wouldn’t feel the need to sneak away. Although, maybe the irritating girl thought that he would be happy to have a liaison away from everyone’s prying eyes. But she was just asking for him to go and give her a piece of his mind and he’d make sure it would be the last time she bothered him.

But now she wasn’t even there. Why bother to arrange a meeting when you weren’t going to show up? He growled in frustration before turning back to the door and pulled at it to open. It refused to budge. Draco frowned but wasn’t too bothered - it was bound to happen in a castle this old - and it wasn’t as if he was exactly helpless. He was a wizard, after all.

\-----------

Forty minutes later and he was still stuck. The vast array of opening spells he’d flung at the door hadn’t worked and he was becoming increasingly frustrated. _Great_ , he thought. Now, he was stuck in a cold, damp cupboard and he wasn’t even able to take it out on the stupid girl who was to blame for him being there.

Draco leant against the door in defeat and closed his eyes. He really didn’t fancy being trapped here all night. He slid down the door and slumped against it, stifling the urge to bang his head against the wood repeatedly. That wouldn’t improve his situation and would just leave him with a headache.

He perked up when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps echoing off Hogwarts’ stone floors. He pressed his ear against the door to make sure, and there it was - someone was coming along the corridor. He breathed out a sigh of relief, as it appeared he wasn’t going to be stuck in here all night after all.

“Help!” he yelled, as he pounded on the door, looking to gain the attention of the passer-by.

The footsteps faltered and Draco started to bang once more. “I’m stuck in here. Can you pull the door open from the outside?”

The door suddenly burst open and he flew backwards, tripped over a bucket and landed on his bottom.

“Malfoy?”

He groaned as he recognised the swotty tone of Hogwarts’ resident bookworm.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, walking inside.

“No! Keep hold of the door!” he said frantically, but it was too late. The door swung shut and he closed his eyes in dismay. “Perfect!” he grumbled.

“Why are you panicking? Surely a simple opening spell will release us.”

He pursed his lips in annoyance but watched as she tried to open the door with a series of spells, getting more complex with each one. He slow-clapped when she failed. “Wow, Granger, I’m so lucky I’m stuck in here with the brightest witch of her age because I never thought of using _Alohomora_ to open the door.”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

“Did you really think that I wouldn’t have tried that?”

“It was still worth a try,” she insisted stubbornly.

“Yeah, I’m sure. What do you suggest now, genius?”

She nibbled her lip. “I’m really not sure. I mean, I only came across you because I was patrolling. I don’t think anyone is due past here until the morning.”

“This day is getting better and better.”

“What were you doing in here anyway?”

“It’s a long story,” he said unhelpfully, not wanting to give her the details.

“I think I have the time.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She shot him a sceptical look. “Why do I get the feeling that the reason you’re in here is key to why we’re trapped?”

He sighed and outlined the situation, as he knew there would be no peace until he did so. Also, once she’d got the story out of him, she would most likely concentrate on putting that immense brain to work on getting them out. At least the bushy-haired Gryffindor was the ideal person to be stuck in a cupboard with. _In more ways than one_ , the disturbing voice in his head said slyly.

“Let me get this straight… You were sent a note telling you meet a girl, who you don’t like, in a broom cupboard, and you still went?”

“This is why I didn’t want to explain it to you. You’re deliberately misunderstanding the situation. It’s not as if I came here to snog, I wanted to tell her to leave me alone, once and for all.”

“It doesn’t seem like the smartest thing to do. From what you’ve said, you’ve hardly been the nicest person to her and this does seem like revenge.”

“People are always wise in hindsight, Granger.”

She must have agreed with that as she nodded and kept quiet. She then started pacing around the cupboard, poking and peering into various things. “It’s strange how our magic works in here but not on the actual door.”

He shrugged, not particularly interested in the ‘whys’ but more concerned about when they were going to get out of there.

“It has to be some very complex and powerful magic to get a door to resist all the spells we have thrown at it. It’s not something I can imagine a student being able to do.”

“Worried you have competition as the most over-achieving witch to attend Hogwarts?”

She shot him an irritated glare. “Don’t you find any of this strange?”

“Of course I do, but I don’t see the point in pontificating about it endlessly. Are you going to suggest that somehow Heather managed to get a professor to help her with her scam? Because that’s the only solution I’m coming up with right now.”

She sighed and sank down on the floor close to him. “It does sound ridiculous when you put it that way.”

“So, any ideas on how to get us out?” he asked hopefully.

“Sorry, no. But give me some time to think about it.”

“I knew you had to have an entire library at your disposal in order to work anything out,” he grumbled irritably.

She glared at him, obviously offended. “No, I don’t!”

“Well, if you were the super-smart witch everyone seems to think you are, why can’t you get us out of here?”

“I’m sorry, Malfoy, I didn’t realise that I was the only person who could think of something. What’s wrong with your brain?”

“I’m not the one masquerading as the Brightest Witch of Her Age.”

“No, but you are a prat.”

He had no response to that so they sat in silence.

\--------

The silence lasted for three hours, at the end of which Hermione felt like she was going insane and would talk to a mouse if one lived in the cupboard. She swallowed her pride and turned to Malfoy. “This is ridiculous! We’re going to be trapped in here all night.”

“Given up throwing useless spells at the door, then?”

He’d watched, amused, as she’d tried repeatedly to open the door. At one point, so desperate to get out, she had tried to force it open using her shoulder. He’d actually sniggered at that, making her temper rise, but she refused to be the one to break the silence.

That was an hour ago and now she needed to talk to someone. The silence and dim light in the cupboard was oppressive.

“You could’ve helped with trying to force the door open,” she said, eyeing his tall frame and broad shoulders.

“I don’t do manual work.”

“Are you forgetting I watched you scrub Professor Slughorn’s supply cupboard out?”

“Let me rephrase that: I don’t do useless manual work at the request of irritating, swotty know-it-alls.”

She flushed before rounding on him, her hands on her hips. “Just what is your problem tonight? You’re being absolutely foul to me, which I don’t deserve! So cut out the nasty remarks. I know there’s a nicer you behind them.”

It was his turn to tense up. “Don’t presume to tell me what I am. You know nothing about me,” he growled.

“Oh please! I might have been at the end of your nasty remarks for the better part of eight years, but you were perfectly civil last month when teaching me to fly.”

“You know what I choose to show you,” he sneered.

“You know what, Malfoy? Suit yourself! You want to hide behind a pathetic façade of insults and bullying then that’s up to you, but don’t give me grief over us being stuck in this cupboard because from where I’m standing this is more your fault than it is mine!”

He glared at her but didn’t respond. She sighed; this was pointless. They had proven that they could get on when thrown together but it appeared that the stress of being locked in a confined space had resorted in Malfoy regressing back to the git he’d been over the years of their acquaintance.

“The funny thing is that I was actually beginning to like and respect you,” she said without thinking and then slapped her hand over her mouth as she realised what she said.

“What?” he replied, shocked.

Now that she’d said it, there was no point in trying to backtrack. “You’re a huge prat and you have an awful nasty streak, but when you’re not being horrible you have qualities that can be impressive.”

“Like what?”

She shot him an amused glance. “Fishing for compliments?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” she said, realising that Malfoy probably didn’t know what fishing was.

“So, are you going to answer my question?”

She debated about it briefly but what was the harm? She’d already admitted there were things about him she respected. “You’re intelligent and you use your brain imaginatively as shown when teaching me to fly. You were also kind when you knew how afraid I was. I thought you’d laugh at me but you didn’t. Instead you were supportive and helped me overcome my fears. On rare occasions, you’ve also shown that you can do the right thing.”

“When did I do the right thing according to you?”

“When you couldn’t kill Professor Dumbledore.”

He flushed and looked away uncomfortably. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

“Actually, I do, thanks to the presence of Harry that night.”

Malfoy levered himself up off of the floor and walked over to the shelves at the back of the cupboard. He began to aimlessly shift stuff around with his back towards her. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him act so awkward, or indeed vulnerable.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it. It shows that you have some decency in you.”

He whirled around to face her and scowled. “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who had your enemy listening in on the worst night of your life. How would you feel if you knew that someone you hated had heard painful details of your life?”

“It made Harry understand why you would take the Dark Mark.”

“Oh, good, I’m so pleased that perfect Potter _understood_ my motivations. That makes it so much more worthwhile. But for your information, I was happy to take the Dark Mark. I thought it was an honour,” he sneered.

She surveyed him sadly. “You don’t have to hide behind your bravado here.”

He stared her down. “What do you want from me, Granger, some kind of confession? Why should I give you that?”

“You don’t have to, but you’re obviously uncomfortable with this topic so maybe talking about it might help.”

“Why would I talk to you? You’ll just go back and share it all with your friends.”

“Actually, I won’t, and I find that it sometimes helps talking to people outside of your circle of friends. Besides, you helped me out so maybe I want to return the favour.”

“Well, I don’t,” he said curtly.

He then slid back down to the floor opposite her and glared fiercely before extinguishing the light of his wand. It threw him into shadow but she could still feel the anger and pain radiating out of his eyes towards her. She sighed. What had come over her? First, she admitted that she admired things about him and then tried to encourage him to open up to her. If she were in his position she probably wouldn’t have done so either. It was crazy to think that some flying lessons and a few hours in a broom cupboard could create that kind of relationship between them.

She lowered her wand and put the light out as well. She didn’t want him to be able to see every expression on her face when she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. The cupboard was plunged into darkness.

\----------

Hermione was dozing uncomfortably when Malfoy started to speak. She jerked her head up and opened her eyes, which had accustomed themselves somewhat to the dark and she could make out the dim outline of the Slytherin across the small cupboard.

“I might have been pleased to take the Mark at the beginning but it wasn’t long before I realised it was a burden rather than something to be proud of. I think it was my mother’s reaction to the news that brought it home to me. At first, I thought she was just worried because I was her son and she was trying to baby me, which annoyed me. But the horror on her face when the Dark Lord made the request stayed with me and as the reality of the task hit home, I understood it more. She recognised the mission for what it was: a punishment for my father’s failings.”

She kept quiet as she realised that this was more of a cathartic outpouring that didn’t require any input from her.

“The pride in being chosen for the task soon gave away to horror and by the time that night in the Astronomy Tower came around, I knew that I couldn’t kill anyone, even when my family’s life was in danger.”

She was rather taken aback by his bleak tone of voice. She might have encouraged him to talk to her but she didn’t think that he really would. She wasn’t sure he had the emotional capacity to open up.

“When I returned home and saw how the Dark Lord had taken over the Manor with my parents as virtual hostages, I realised in how much peril we were. My father, who had always held so much pride in his power and name, was nothing but a weak shell, his wand confiscated and completely at the mercy of Lord Voldemort. My parents had always told me that when the Dark Lord returned, the magical community would be improved. The erosion of the power and wealth of the pure-bloods would be reversed but it turned out to be the opposite. Living at the Manor that summer, it didn’t take me long to realise that this had nothing to do with blood or the betterment of the wizarding world, but ultimate power for one man and we were nothing but pawns in his game.”

Hermione hadn’t moved her eyes off his silhouette and could see how defensive his body language was, almost as if he expected her to lash out or laugh at him. His hunched shoulders were rigid. Instead, she got up, walked the few steps across the cupboard and sat down next to him. She reached out and took one of his hands in hers. It was balled up into a fist, so she prised his fingers open before lacing them through hers.

\------------

Draco was confused. He’d poured his heart out to a girl he’d always considered an enemy and now she was sitting there holding his hand. She had also automatically known that he didn’t want empty words to make him feel better. She had ignited buried memories - ones he’d done his best to suppress – and known he’d needed to talk without engaging in a conversation. How had she known to do that? Throughout their acquaintance, there had been little more than insults and fights between them but yet she had understood this much about him. Then again, hadn’t he known that she had been afraid to fly and had instinctively known how to help her out? It was strange, almost as if there was some kind of bond between them that was growing despite their best efforts to stifle it.

He turned his head to face her. In the dark, he could make out her basic outline and couldn’t help the smile that broke out at the dark cloud of hair that was unmistakable.

“What?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“I can feel you staring at me. What’s wrong?”

He paused for a moment. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

She moved her head to the side and there was the weird sensation of them gazing at each other but not really being able to see each other’s eyes, increasing the intimate feel of the moment. He wasn’t someone who usually connected with other people easily, but with her it felt natural, as if it was preordained or something.

She shrugged. “It was nothing.”

He squeezed her hand gently. “Don’t dismiss it like that, it was more than nothing. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about the war and I’m still not sure why I could with you, but I appreciate you allowing me to get it off my chest like that.”

“Like I said, it can help to talk to someone who doesn’t really know you.”

He laughed a little bitterly. “You appear to know me better than most other people, perhaps even better than I know myself.”

She had no response to that and they continued to sit there in silence for a while. The dark was comforting, which allowed the animosity between them to recede.

“You know when you said you admired aspects of me?”

“Yeah, it was against my better judgement.”

He chuckled. “You’re not the only one.”

She snorted. “Are you trying to say you admire me? If that’s the case then you’ve done a good job at hiding it.”

“I could say the same about you, but it’s true. You have a warmth and generosity that most people don’t possess. I guess I didn’t appreciate it until now.”

“You probably viewed it as a weakness.”

“Not even that. I didn’t bother to see it. The only part of you that mattered was the fact that you were Muggle-born and that you beat me in all exams. I was irritated that someone who didn’t know about magic until they were eleven could be better than me in practising it. Once I got over that, I decided that you were an annoying, bossy show-off who needed taking down a peg or two. Ironic, I know. But part of me always recognised your loyalty and your empathy towards others. I think it’s why I tried so hard to hurt you. That, and jealousy at your intelligence.”

“Wow, you really are lowering your barriers tonight.”

“I know. I think this cupboard must have some weird enchantment placed on it.”

She laughed lightly. “Possibly. It’s making you seem half decent.”

“Okay, one last out-of-character moment: I want to apologise for being such a git to you. You didn’t deserve to be treated the way that I treated you. No one should have to put up with what I did and said.”

“I thought I deserved it for being a Muggle-born.”

He bowed his head. “Yeah, well I realised that’s a pile of crap. I doubt many people could go through the war and still think Muggle-borns are inferior.”

“Really?”

“Yes, haven’t you noticed that I haven’t called you a Mudblood once since we returned to Hogwarts?”

“No, I hadn’t really thought about it. But now that you mention it, I don’t think you have.”

“I haven’t. I’ve insulted you but not your blood.”

“I’m not sure that’s any better.”

“Oh please, you’ve given as good as you’ve got and don’t think I’ve forgotten that you attacked me like some kind of harpy.”

“Well, you tipped dirty water over me.”

He burst out laughing. “You looked so funny.”

She whacked him with her free hand. “Do you know how long it took to wash my hair after that?”

He tugged playfully on one of her curls. “Can’t say I do. I can wash mine in five minutes.”

“Show-off,” she muttered.

The conversation tapered off but gone was the tension that had existed before. The atmosphere was no longer hostile with snarky insults pinging back and forth. Now it was comfortable, the lack of light allowing for confidences to be exchanged and a relaxing of defences.

\---------

Hermione woke to the sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. She blearily blinked her eyes several times, trying to shake the sleepiness from them. She lifted her head from where it was resting on Malfoy’s shoulder and bent her head left to right, trying to get rid of the crick in her neck. She really hadn’t slept in the most comfortable position and her neck was now complaining. She disentangled her hand from Malfoy’s and rubbed it with both hands, trying to ease the ache. She managed to jostle him with her elbow.

“Nice wake-up call, Granger.”

The sound of the footsteps got louder. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.

“I think so.”

They both leapt to their feet and rushed over to the door and proceeded to pound on the doors with their fists.

“Hello! Can you hear me?” Hermione yelled.

“I think they’d have to be deaf not to,” Malfoy remarked acidly.

She glared at him before continuing to yell, spitefully shouting once in his ear, making him wince.

“Miss Granger? Is that you?” The Headmistress asked.

“Oh, Professor McGonagall, thank goodness! We’ve been trapped in here all night.”

“We? Who else is in there?”

“Malfoy.”

“And you’re trapped?”

“Yes!”

“What seems to be the problem?”

“We can’t get out. Malfoy was trapped first and I was able to open the door from the outside but we’re stuck in here, no matter what spells we use.”

Before she had finished the sentence, Professor McGonagall had opened the door and they stumbled out. Hermione couldn’t help but blink in the natural light of the corridor. It wasn’t particularly bright but when you’d been stuck in a dark cupboard with just Lumos for company, it seemed blinding.

The Headmistress looked them up and down and seemed to have some trouble smothering a smile. Hermione looked down at her robe and grimaced as she saw how dusty it was.

“Well as you’ve been stuck in here all night, I’ll give you the morning off to go and get cleaned up. I also give you both permission to get some breakfast from the kitchens, as you’ve missed it.” With that Professor McGonagall nodded at them and disappeared down the corridor.

Hermione shifted awkwardly on her feet. Now they were back in the usual environment of Hogwarts, everything that had happened in the cupboard felt abnormal. Had she really held Malfoy’s hand and slept on his shoulder?

She looked up and saw that he looked just as uneasy. “Let’s never speak about that night again and continue as normal,” he suggested.

She nodded gratefully. They stood looking at each other for a brief minute before catching themselves, smiling uncomfortably and heading off in opposite directions.

“Oh, by the way, Granger, you have cobwebs in your hair. Good luck washing them out.”

She cursed his stupid shiny hair.


	6. Mistletoe Mischief

Hermione smiled as she surveyed the decorations that she’d just helped put up in the Great Hall. Christmas at Hogwarts was a magical time.

“So this is where you got to. I’ve spent the last hour trying to track you down. I thought you spent all your time in the library,” Malfoy said grouchily behind her.

She suppressed a sigh and turned to face him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to go over the conclusion on the Wolfsbane project. It’s due in two days and I thought we should start writing it.”

“Oh, I finished it a couple of days ago,” she said, summoning it from the desk in her room with Accio.

“And you didn’t think I deserved to know this or have an input?”

“Are you really complaining because you didn’t have to do any work? This coming from the boy who told me at the beginning of the project that I’d be lucky if you did _any_ work?”

“Yeah, well, that was before. I’ve spent just as many hours as you researching and writing up sections, which entitles me to know if you are writing conclusions behind my back with zero input from me.”

“Oh keep your hair on, Malfoy. You’re moodier than a Hippogriff,” she teased.

He glared at her as the rolled-up parchment zoomed into her hand. She handed it over to him. “Here. Read it and let me know if you find it unsatisfactory,” she said smugly, knowing that it was better than anything he could’ve written.

Malfoy snatched it out of her hand. “What are you doing in here anyway?” he asked.

“Professor Flitwick asked me to help him charm the decorations for the Christmas trees. What do you think?”

He glanced around briefly, looking distinctly unimpressed. “You’ve actually finished?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Yes.”

“Really? They’re alright, I guess. Not very imaginative.”

Hermione’s mouth turned down as she studied the Christmas trees once more. She thought they looked beautiful, glittering and glimmering with candles and icicles. She’d been particularly proud of the one she’d decorated with tiny little sparkling stars.

“Here,” he said, and with a flick of his wand he turned half of the stars into shooting ones that sped across the tree, twinkling in and out of the branches. It was a small, simple change but the effect was dramatic, turning the tree into a moving, shimmering mass of silver stars.

“I could have done that!” she huffed.

He shot her an amused look. “Of course, but it would’ve required imagination.”

She put her hands on her hips. “I have imagination!”

“Sure you do. Probably in organising your books,” he said dismissively, and with a wave of his hand he left the Hall.

She stared after him, half-infuriated by his implication that she was dull and the other half-amused by his antics. Despite their best efforts to return to the hostile sniping of the past, their relationship had changed. Whilst they still threw insults at each other, it was good-natured and teasing, as if there was affection behind it. You couldn’t tackle phobias or share confidences without becoming closer. However, she sometimes felt that there was something else, almost as an outside force was at work, that was determined to throw them together. It didn’t help that she appeared to have developed an ill-advised affection for the snarky blond. Despite her best efforts to suppress it, it was growing, which was more than a little worrisome.

She shook her head, took one last look at Malfoy’s improved tree and made her way out of the Hall.

\---------

Minerva observed the interaction of her two fated students with a mixture of satisfaction and fear. She was pleased to note that Hermione and Draco were on much friendlier terms. Gone were the threats and hexing, replaced by teasing that bordered on the affectionate. However, it still wasn’t enough and time was running out. The Headmistress also had the Ministry on her case, which was nervously following events from London. The Minister for Magic was arranging a contingency plan just in case the prophecy wasn’t fulfilled but he also spent an inordinate amount of time sending her owls. If this is what the previous Minister, Cornelius Fudge, had done to Albus, no wonder the previous Headmaster had always been so exasperated.

The pressure coming from the Ministry certainly wasn’t helping matters. She and her team were doing all they could to move the stubborn pair together but they needed time that they – unfortunately – didn’t have.

At least Christmas opened up possibilities that weren’t available at other times and she held that evidence in her hand. She’d also co-opted the help of Peeves. Well, she’d used his fear of the Bloody Baron to make sure that he was willing to help. The poltergeist was likely to refuse just to be contrary and Minerva hadn’t taken that risk, just getting the Slytherin ghost to speak to Peeves directly.

Now the Headmistress needed to let the plan unfold.

\---------

Draco was frustrated. It appeared that Peeves was dogging his footsteps. Everywhere he went, the pesky poltergeist was there, loitering in an unsavoury manner. Draco could put it down to coincidence but he was naturally suspicious and rightly so when you considered Peeves’ track record. It didn’t pay to ignore him as that path usually ended with you being the centre of some outlandish prank.

To make matters worse, Draco was confused over Granger, who was getting under his skin. Ever since they’d been partnered on the blasted Potions project, they had been thrown together in all sorts of bizarre circumstances, which ended with the annoying witch dominating his thoughts. He wanted to go back to the more simple times when he hated her, but that now he’d seen her scared, vulnerable, grateful and then warm and comforting – it was impossible to go back. It was as if he was seeing a different person and one he was becoming increasingly affectionate towards. It was beginning to keep him awake at night.

And to top it all off, Professor McGonagall had channelled the mind of Gilderoy Lockhart and had decided to make Christmas in the castle ‘fun’ by hanging endless amounts of mistletoe – and not just ordinary mistletoe but a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes product that kept you locked under it with whoever you’d accidentally stepped under there with - until you kissed. So far, he had managed to avoid this fate but his traitorous mind had recently began to wonder what it’d be like to be trapped under this mistletoe with Granger. Potion lessons had become torture as he’d tried to stop his eyes wandering down to her lips.

He did not like this one little bit. It was bloody Granger!

\-----------

“This is taking forever!” Ron grumbled to Harry.

“Give it time, it’s only been four days.”

“Yeah, but we only have three days before the Christmas holidays start. I thought roping Peeves into this would mean it was a sure thing and would have been done by the end of the first day.”

“I hate to agree with Weasley, but he’s right. We’re running out of time,” Nott said pessimistically, coming up behind the pair of friends.

“It’ll happen, have some faith,” Harry persisted.

“It better! I’m starting to have anxiety attacks about becoming a Muggle,” Ron said.

Nott visibly paled. “I can’t be a Muggle!”

“Calm down! It’s not going to happen. I reckon this last idea of Professor McGonagall’s will pull it off. Haven’t you noticed how friendly they’ve been getting?”

“Friendly, yes! Lover-like, no!” Ron objected.

“You heard what the Headmistress said: if you give them time then they will fall in love with each other. They were picked because they are meant to be.”

“We don’t have time!” Ron wailed.

“That’s one messed up prophecy. I’m glad it’s Draco and not me,” Nott said.

Ron shuddered and nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

“And even if you don’t have faith in the prophecy, then have faith in George. Has he ever invented a product that didn’t work?” Harry asked.

“No, I guess that’s something,” Ron commented.

“Exactly. Don’t worry, come this New Year’s Day, we’ll still be using magic.”

“We better or otherwise I’m hunting you down and killing you, Potter,” Nott said.

“I’d be more scared of that threat if it didn’t mean you wouldn’t have magic on your side. I’ve dodged Muggle methods of pain for the majority of my childhood, so I fancy my chances against you.”

Nott and Ron grimaced, not wanting a reminder of what awaited them if the prophecy wasn’t fulfilled.

\---------

Hermione sighed as she left the library and slowly made her way along the corridor back towards the Gryffindor common room. She needed to get Malfoy out of her head. The suppressed feelings towards him were beginning to play with her imagination. She’d spent the better part of Ancient Runes doodling their initials enclosed in little hearts. It wasn’t healthy - it was Malfoy for goodness sake! The nasty little prat who’d bullied her for the best part of her school life and who’d seen her being tortured by his aunt. This could not be happening to her. Thankfully he wasn’t a Legilimens and so wasn’t aware of her feelings. She doubted she’d be able to live with the humiliation.

“Granger, wait up!”

_Speak of the devil and he shall appear_ , she thought before turning around. Malfoy was jogging down the corridor, his hair getting ruffled by the wind created by the action. Wow, she even liked the way he jogged. She was losing it.

He stopped just in front of her and waved their finished Potions project in her face. “I read it and it’s excellent. Probably better than anything I could write.”

She stared at him in confusion. _Did he really just say that_? His expression seemed as bewildered as hers.

He coughed and cleared his throat. “Yeah… anyway, I think it’s ready to hand in.”

She took the parchment out of his outstretched hand. “Good, especially considering the hand-in date is two days away.”

“So, is there anything else you need me to do?” he asked a little awkwardly.

“No, I don’t think so. You gave me your parts last week and I just need to bind it all together.”

He scuffed his toe against the floor. “I guess that’s the assignment finished, then.”

“It would appear so.”

Malfoy looked at her, almost as if he wanted to prolong the conversation, but didn’t know how. She wished she could think of something to say, too. She’d enjoyed working alongside him once they’d settled down. He was smart and witty and, once he forgot to project the snotty Slytherin persona, he was actually pretty decent. Maybe, if they didn’t have all the history between them, they could have been friends. Perhaps, if she could think of a way to phrase it without sounding desperate, they still could.

Unfortunately she wasn’t given that opportunity as a loud, rude sounding raspberry was blown above them. She looked up and mentally groaned. There was Peeves, floating and looking far too happy for him not to be up to something horrible and nasty.

“Ooh looky here! It’s Malfoy and the Muggle-born and they’re all gooey-eyed.”

“Get out of here, Peeves!” Hermione snapped, not bothering to give the poltergeist the attention he craved.

“Temper, temper!” Peeves mock-scolded.

“You heard her – get lost!” Malfoy snarled.

“What’s up? Does the ickle Malfoy want a kissy kissy with the little missy?”

“I’m warning you, Peeves. The Bloody Baron has taught us Slytherins more than one way to deal with you.”

Predictably, Peeves didn’t respond to the threat with anything close to fear. Instead, and much to Hermione’s horror, he brandished a sprig of Mistletoe Mischief, developed by one George Weasley, and held it over the pair. She felt her feet stick to the floor and watched as Malfoy tried to lift first one foot and then the other but failed.

“Looks like you got your wish,” Peeves said gleefully, his eyes glittering with excitement.

“Peeves! I’m going to kill you!” Malfoy yelled.

The poltergeist just grinned wickedly before whizzing down the corridor singing:

_“Malfoy and Granger, no longer two strangers,_

_There’ll be lots of kissing now they know what they’re missing.”_

He completed his loathsome rhyme with several loud smooching noises.

Hermione looked self-consciously up at Malfoy, who was muttering furiously to himself. Her own heart was pounding and the adrenalin was pumping from anticipation. She’d secretly been craving this but she wished he didn’t look so angry about the idea. It was off-putting knowing that he was so upset by something she was actually looking forward to. What was it with her and unrequited feelings? First it had been Ron during their sixth year and now she was going to end up mooning over Malfoy when it was clear he had no interest in her.

“How about we just get this over and done with?” she suggested hesitantly.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry about this. I mean… I doubt you really want me kissing you.”

Her heart sank further, but at least he was being a gentleman about it. There could’ve been snide remarks about her blood or her general unattractiveness. Well, she wasn’t going to let him know that he was far from the truth and she really did want to kiss him, so she nodded, closed her eyes and puckered her lips, waiting for the inevitable peck.

Her breath hitched as Malfoy clasped her hands in his and drew her in a little nearer. He laced his fingers through hers and she couldn’t help but compare how much bigger they were; they dwarfed hers. She peeked her eyes open and saw that he was staring at her with an intense look. Her lips felt dry and she licked them nervously.

He squeezed her hands reassuringly. “Okay?” he asked.

But he didn’t wait for an answer, instead dipping his head and pressing his lips to hers.

The kiss should have lasted for five seconds. That was how long it took for the mistletoe to burst into green and white sparks. Hermione heard the pop but she had no interest in pulling away from Malfoy, who was kissing her with increasing enthusiasm. In fact, they didn’t spring apart until they were barged into by a group of passing fourth-year Ravenclaws.

“You should get a room,” one said scornfully.

Hermione blushed and looked anywhere but at Malfoy.

“Finally!” another Ravenclaw added. “We’ve been waiting for this since the prophecy was revealed.”

That got Hermione’s attention from the floor, which she’d been studying intently from embarrassment. “What?”

The first fourth-year nudged the other. “Shut up! They weren’t meant to know,” she hissed.

The second girl clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Not meant to know what?” Malfoy asked.

“Er … about the prophecy and your role,” the Ravenclaw said, visibly flinching under his glare.

“Way to go, idiot! You’ll be the one explaining to McGonagall why you opened your big mouth,” her friend snapped.

“I couldn’t help it! He was looking all murderous,” the second girl said, as they scurried down the corridor and out of sight.

Hermione groaned. “I _knew_ it wasn’t a fake! Harry was adamant the night Trelawney made it that it was real.”

“You mean everyone lied to us because we’re the ones it spoke about?”

“It seems that way,” she said, pursing her lips in annoyance.

“Why lie?”

“Are you really asking me that? It’s not as if we were exactly on good terms. I didn’t even want to work with you on a Potions project, let alone fall in love with you.”

“All those incidents! The stupid detentions, the broomstick lessons, that blasted cupboard – they must have been a set up!”

“Ooh I’m going to kill Harry and Ron!”

“The note from Heather Armitage – that had to be either Blaise or Theo! I’m going to make their lives a misery.”

With a final look at each other, they sprinted off in separate directions to confront their friends.

\----------

“Harry James Potter! Get your scrawny bum over here NOW!” Hermione yelled as she barrelled her way into the Gryffindor common room.

Conversations broke off and every head turned to face her in surprise. If she had been calm enough to care she might have felt self-conscious, but right now she was angry with her two best friends for lying to her.

“And bring that gangly ginger with you!” she snapped.

From the back of the common room, Harry and Ron emerged, looking confused by her angry tone.

“Hey, Hermione. What’s wrong?” Ron asked.

“How _dare_ you lie to me?!” she shouted.

“Huh?”

“About the prophecy. How could you lie and tell me it was a fake when in fact it was about me!” she yelled, her voice going up at the end.

Ron visibly gulped.

“How did you find out?” Harry asked, looking paler than usual in the face of his friend’s anger.

“Some fourth-year bumped into Malfoy and I kissing and let the cat out of the bag.”

“You wait until I get my hands… What? You and Malfoy were kissing?” Ron asked.

Hermione, realising what she’d said, flushed. She hadn’t meant to tell them that! “Er … yeah.”

Cheers rang around the common room and she soon found herself at the centre of a hugging, back-slapping scrum. Once it’d subsided, she was located and dragged into the corner by her two best friends. The rest of the Gryffindors didn’t notice as they were too busy celebrating in the noisy, rambunctious way only they knew.

“You’ve earned my everlasting, undying gratitude, Hermione,” Ron said enthusiastically.

“Are you dating Malfoy, then?” Harry asked.

Hermione, first checking that no one else was listening and then casting the Muffliato spell, tugged her hair anxiously. “No! We got trapped by Peeves under some Mistletoe Mischief and we had to kiss.”

“Oh!” Ron said, deflating. “So you’re not in love with him?”

She perched on the window behind her and put her head in her hands. “I can’t stop thinking about him,” she confessed.

“Surely that’s good,” Ron said.

She jumped up and began to pace back and forth in front of them. “No, it’s not. Six weeks ago I hated him. I was so sure about that and now, I’m confused. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a snarky git but he has a sweet side and I like it. He was so thoughtful about helping with my broomstick phobia and then opened up to me when we were trapped in the cupboard and my emotions are engaged and I have no idea how he feels about me. And now I find out that unless we fall in love, magic disappears forever. Do you even understand how confusing this all is?”

Both boys looked taken aback by her rant. They were used to calm, rational Hermione, not this ranting version. She was the one who they usually went to for advice.

“Don’t worry about the prophecy, from the sounds of it, you’re already in love with Ferret Boy,” Ron said cheerfully.

“Yes, but I don’t know if he is in love with me!” she wailed.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Harry suggested.

Hermione shot him a scornful look. “It’s Malfoy! I’m not about to wear my heart on my sleeve where he’s concerned. He’ll probably shoot me down for fun.”

“Er … did he look disgusted after kissing you?” Ron asked, his face flaming red at his discomfort at such a question.

She paused, looking pensive. “No, not that I noticed. In fact, we kissed for longer than necessitated by the mistletoe.”

“There you go then!” Ron said encouragingly.

“Yeah, that sounds really promising. Why don’t you go and tell him that you like him? I bet he likes you too,” Harry pushed.

Hermione looked at them suspiciously. “You’re just saying this so there’s a hope the prophecy might be fulfilled.”

“It might already be fulfilled. It said nothing about you having to date or marry or have kids, just that you had to fall in love and you seem well on your way, and who’s to say that Malfoy isn’t?” Harry said.

She sighed. She did want to know if Malfoy felt the same, but she was afraid that he might just stomp all over her feelings. “What if he laughs at me and calls me an ugly Mudblood troll?”

“Has he called a Mudblood since you started spending time with him?” Harry asked.

“No. In fact, he hasn’t called me a Mudblood since we returned to Hogwarts.”

“There you go then.”

“But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think I’m an unattractive troll.”

“Look, do you want to do that unrequited love thing you had going on with Ron for ages? It was possibly cute when you were fifteen but you’re an adult now, Hermione. Don’t you think you should take a few risks? Besides, you and Ron got boring really quickly in sixth year and it wasn’t even worth all the angst when you actually dated for all of two weeks.”

“Hey!” Ron objected. “But he does have a point, Hermione. We spent a ridiculous amount of time trying to work out if the other one liked the other when we should have just gone for it.”

“But what if he says no and laughs at me? I don’t think I could handle that.”

“You’re Hermione Granger! Brightest Witch of Her Age! You hex him until he bleeds!” Harry encouraged.

“Or set those vicious birds on him. That’s enough to scar anyone for a lifetime,” Ron said with a shudder.

“You really think I should do this?”

“Yes!” they chorused.

She straightened her shoulders and started to march purposively towards the door. “Oh, don’t think I’ve forgiven either of you for lying to me,” she said over her shoulder before barging her way through the partying Gryffindors and exiting the common room.

“Did we really just send her to Malfoy to confess her feelings?” Ron asked.

“Apparently so.”

The redhead shrugged. “She’ll thank us if she lives happily ever after.”

“Or kill us painfully if she’s just gone to commit social suicide,” Harry replied dryly.

\-----------

Draco still wasn’t sure if he was happy with his friends’ excuses for trying to set him up with Granger.

“Mate, seriously, what did you want us to do? If you don’t hurry up and declare your undying love for Gryffindor’s resident bookworm, then we’re Muggles. _Muggles!_ ” Theo said, looking horrified.

“Besides, we had to sit there in endless plotting meetings listening to Potter and Weasley drone on and on. I got enough of that in Potions, so really you should be grateful that we gave up our time for you,” Blaise said.

“Er… I’m sorry – when did you do any of this to help me out?” Draco asked. “I believe this has all been put in place to save magic, not to make me happy.”

“Oh, so you admit Granger makes you happy?” Theo asked.

Draco swore internally. He hadn’t meant to make that slip-up. “That’s not what I meant. I was making the point that you were being self-serving.”

“But you do want Granger, right?” Theo asked insistently.

He was saved from answering by a third-year calling him over to the entrance to the Slytherin common room. He glared at Theo before making his way over.

“Don’t think you’re getting away from that question, Draco. I need to know for my well-being. I’m beginning to have sleepless nights,” Theo said, following him.

“Draco! Granger’s outside asking for you,” Maximilian Greene said as he neared the door.

Draco nodded his thanks and stepped out into the corridor. Standing just to the right was Granger, looking anxious and wringing her hands. Theo peered past him and made to follow him out the door but Draco turned around and put his hand on his friend’s chest to stop him.

“Don’t even think about coming any further. There’s no need for you to be a part of this conversation.”

“Spoilsport,” Theo muttered but went back into the common room.

“Granger,” he greeted. “What can I help you with?”

“It’s about earlier,” she replied, twisting her hands and struggling to look him in the eye.

He lounged against the stone wall and tried not to smile at how adorable she looked. Granger was rarely unsure, which made this experience all the more enjoyable.

“What about earlier?”

That got her to look at him even if it was just an annoyed glare. “Don’t play dumb, Malfoy. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He studied his fingernails, perfecting a nonchalant pose that he was far from feeling. “Oh! The kiss.”

“Yes! The kiss!”

“What about it?”

“You know what? This is pointless. I’m not even sure why I’m doing this,” she growled in frustration, before whirling around and starting to walk back up the corridor.

He sprinted after her and caught her wrist. “Granger, what were you going to say?”

“Are you going to stop being a prat and making me feel awkward?”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, but only if you spit out what you want to say.”

She took a deep breath and appeared to mentally steady herself. “What did it mean?” she asked in a rush.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. We were coerced into kissing by Peeves and that stupid mistletoe.”

She visibly deflated in front of him, her shoulders slumping. “Oh! Well I guess I’ll see you around,” she said in a small voice.

He closed his eyes for a second. She looked so disappointed that it tore a little at his heart. Could that possibly mean that she liked him? He let himself dare to believe for a minute and refused to let go off her wrist, despite her constant tugging.

“I’m not good at this,” he said, running his free hand through his hair.

“Good at what?”

“This whole feelings thing. I don’t like baring my soul to anyone but if you’re asking me if the kiss meant anything, then yes, it did. I don’t know when it happened but I’ve come to like you. I’m not even sure if it’s the prophecy messing with me or my own feelings.”

“Prophecies can only be made, they cannot force feelings or make two people fall in love. That said, a love prophecy is only made regarding two people who are destined to be together,” she informed him in a matter-of-fact tone.

He smirked and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “See, that swotty explanation would’ve driven me nuts a couple of months ago, but now I find it a little adorable and more than a bit of a turn-on. I think that means I like you.”

She blushed and raised her eyes shyly towards his. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you,” she confessed before clamping a hand over her mouth in horror at what she’d said.

He rested his forehead against hers. “I’m sure that should scare me but I think the prophecy already foretold that.”

“If that’s the case then I’m pretty sure you more than like me.”

“You could be right,” he said with a wink before closing the small space between them and kissing her.

Back in the Slytherin common room, Theo let out a whoop and pulled in the Extendable Ear he’d been using to listen in on the conversation. “Panic over, guys! Draco and Granger are officially in love!”

An almighty cheer went up.

Draco briefly lifted his head. “Bloody Theo!” he muttered before resuming the pleasurable task of kissing his new girlfriend.

\------------

Minerva McGonagall smiled as she surveyed the chattering students. It was the night before the Christmas holidays and the Great Hall was ablaze with candles and abuzz with noise. It was the most light-hearted it’d been since the blasted prophecy had been made and she was pleased to see that the two students who had brought about this change were shooting each other intimate glances across the Hall.

The Headmistress could relax once more now that magic was no longer in danger. Despite the firm reassurances from Arwydd back in November, that, given time, everything would turn out well, there had been moments where she’d been close to panicking. She really hadn’t believed that those two particular students could be brought to like each other, let alone fall in love. But she was happy to say that she had been proven wrong and was now looking forward to the New Year.

She was also looking forward to saying goodbye to her seventh-years. There hadn’t been a peaceful year in Hogwarts the whole time they’d been enrolled students. That would hopefully change once they left.


End file.
